I Never Knew You
by EdwardsWeasley
Summary: AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies... FULL SUMMARY INSIDE.
1. Prologue

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ I know, two stories, bad idea. But I have always wanted to write a story like this, and I figured, hey, why not now? This story is **alternate universe**. Canon, therefore, obviously does not apply. Additionally, this story will focus more on the lost relationship between Hermione and her brother, and her budding romance with his best friend, Ron, and less on the happenings of the wizarding world after the war. So, yes, this is a Ron and Hermione romance, but it will be more slow going.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**PROLOGUE**

HENRY was my best friend. My confidant, my other half, my twin brother. Throughout our childhood, you could not find me without Henry or Henry without me. We shared secrets, laughed at our own jokes, and could communicate with just a look. We were unstoppable when we were younger. I could not imagine a world without Henry. Until he was gone.

On our eleventh birthday, everything changed. We had been sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for our mother to finish making our signature birthday breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes. We rarely had a breakfast with so much sugar. Both of our parents were dentists, and we had the best teeth in our entire school. Why would they allow us to mess up that title with sweets? We were laughing about our newest joke—something about the neighbors' cat—and trying to stab each other with our forks when it happened. Mum had tried to scold us several times, but had finally given up, giggling herself, when something tapped at the kitchen window. She had jumped, prompting Henry and I to run to the window.

I gasped, shocked by the sight. _This is impossible_, I thought, as Henry spoke: "This is impossible."

Sitting on the window sill was a large, brown, barn owl. And as if this was not peculiar in itself, the owl had a large, thick letter attached to its leg. The three of us stood there, wide eyed, mouth agape.

"Mum…" I trailed.

"Henry, g-go get your father."

Henry stumbled up the stairs with excitement and disbelief. Mum and I did not move as we waited for my father to come downstairs to assess the situation. He ascended down the stairs a moment later, tightening his neck tie and trying not to trip over Henry, who was on his heels.

"What is this Henry tells me about an owl?" Mum and I pointed to the window. My father made a noise that told us he was not quite sure of how to react. After another moment passed, he opened the window and we all ducked as the owl flew in, dropping the letter into Henry's hands. We all turned to stare at my twin with questioning eyes.

Henry shrugged his shoulders. "What? I didn't know anything about this!" he insisted.

"Well," I said, my voice dripping with excitement, "open it!"

"Honey," Mum interjected, "I don't know if that is such a good idea." She looked at her husband, her eyes begging for support.

"No, no, I think it is okay," my father answered. It was apparent he was as curious as I was.

Henry opened the letter and took a moment to read. Finally, he said, "Hogwarts? What the bloody hell is a Hogwarts?" Annoyed that he had not offered any other emotion or information, I snatched the letter from him.

"Hermi—" my mother started, but I began to read out loud.

"_Dear Mr. Granger, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. This has _got _to be a joke," I laughed, matter-of-factly.

It was my father's turn to snatch the letter from me. He looked over the pages, my mother reading over his shoulder. Henry and I stood in silence, watching and waiting.

Finally, my father said, "I don't think this is a joke." Not a moment after he said it, there was a knock at the door. As my father walked off, I hung my head, my excitement quickly turning to jealously. Where was my letter?

* * *

><p>Hogwarts was not a joke. The knock at the door had been from Albus Dumbledore himself, headmaster of Hogwarts, coming to explain what was going on. I had sat on the bottom step in the hallway, listening as my mother, father, and twin were given the Hogwarts experience. I had been overcome with jealousy and I just could not bring myself to understand. I had wanted to barge in there and demand my own letter. I did not dare do so, determined to still believe it was not real.<p>

A month later, my brother left on a train, headed for a place I would never know. Our last month together, Henry and I began to grow apart. He had something new and shiny that I could not share. It felt unnatural. I did not go to Kings Cross station to see him off. I told him goodbye through my bedroom door, angry with him for leaving me.

Henry hardly ever came home to visit. In the beginning, he was home every holiday and summer. After a couple of years, he only came home for Christmas, choosing instead to spend his summers with his friends. He sent us letters—by _owl_, for goodness sake!—twice or so a month for six years. His letters were always so lively; detailing all of the _wonderful_ adventures he was having with his friends, a Harry Potter and a Ron someone or another. He had battled a troll, helped kill a giant snake, saved a prisoner's life, and had helped Harry escape numerous times from some evil Lord guy. All of which I did not believe for one second.

When Henry had left—I turned to the only comfort I had left—books. Every tale Henry spun was illogical. I had the proof in my hands that these things he was telling us were impossible. I could not understand how my parents could so readily believe him. And, even if these stories _were_ real, how could they allow him to put himself in so many dangers? Then, when we were sixteen, he came home unexpectedly.

I remember the day like it was yesterday—after all, it was the last day I would ever see my brother. Apparently, that evil Lord he had mentioned in one of his very first letters—they called him You-Know-Who—had begun to overtake the wizarding world. And, he had made the decision to fight against him. This decision meant he would not be attending his final year of school. Instead, he would be going on a search with Harry and Ron to find items that would help destroy the evil Lord. Finally, my parents reacted in the way I had always expected them to. They told Henry no, he would not be going off with his friends. He would either return to school or come home.

"Don't you understand?" Henry had said, angrily, "I am not safe at school and I am not safe here either. Being friends with Harry means I am a target too."

He fought with my parents for several minutes. I had interjected at one point that if he was not safe at home, did that mean we were not safe either.

"No, you are perfectly safe. I—well, I haven't exactly been forthcoming about my family with the wizarding world." He hung his head in shame when he saw the disappointment on my father's face.

"You're ashamed of us?" I whispered. "You're ashamed because we aren't like you!" I was getting angry; I could feel the blood going to my face.

"No! No! That isn't it at all." He stopped, obviously thinking about what to say next. He sighed. "Look, I regret it now, but don't you see? It is better I didn't talk about you! You-Know-Who knows nothing about you! He can't find you because he will not be looking and I put untraceable charms on all of you for extra protection. But, it is pertinent that you never, ever mention me to anyone again. Before I leave, I am going to erase myself from this house and this world. I was advised to wipe any memories of me from everyone I know in the muggle world. While I can erase myself from everyone else, from the neighborhood, from school, I refuse to wipe your memories."

He spent another hour with us, attempting to explain everything. I still could not believe anything he was saying was true. Nothing made sense—how could there be a war in England that our military knew nothing about?

It had been a teary goodbye. Little did we know, it would be our last.

* * *

><p>My life ended on May 5, 1998. I had been home alone, just getting home from school, my parents still at the office. I was curled up on the sofa, doing one of my final assignments for the year. I heard a knock at the door and had debated for a moment about answering it. I usually did not answer the door when I was alone, but something was pulling at me. I finally stood and slowly made my way to the door. When I opened it, I was met with two men standing in front of me.<p>

I studied them as we stood there in silence. They were young, probably around my age. One, a tall dangly red head, was standing back, a solemn look on his face. He avoided my eyes, more preoccupied with his feet. He kept shuffling them back and forth, back and forth. When he did look up at me, I noticed his long nose and abundant freckles. His eyes were blue, and for a moment, I imagined they would be beautiful, but there was a sad look about them. I turned my attention to the second man, who was much shorter than the first. Unlike his friend, he appeared less nervous and seemed to be studying me as well. He had jet black hair, green eyes, and round glasses. And then I noticed the lightning bolt scar, the one I had heard so much about. Could it really be true?

"Are you—are you Hermione Granger?" The shorter one, who I now knew to be Mr. Harry Potter himself, asked.

"Yes. Who are you?" I asked, although I knew the answer. The other one, the redhead, had to be Ron.

"I am Harry, Harry Potter. And this," he said, motioning to his friend, "is Ronald Weasley." Ron waved, but still did not make eye contact. I noticed the bags under his eyes, and again, I wondered about how beautiful his eyes could be.

I did not say anything, not quite sure what they wanted. And then, I thought of Henry. _Wait—these are Henry's friends. Why are they here and where is he?_ I thought. It hit me.

"No," I whispered. Harry did not move. "No," I said again, my voice trembling. "Where is my brother?"

"I am so sorry," Harry said, as my legs hit the floor. He and Ron reached down to comfort me.

"No," I yelled, pulling away. "It's your fault. _Your fault_! He was your friend. How could you let this happen?" I was sobbing now, tears rolling down my cheeks. Harry tried to speak again, but I would not let him.

"Go," I cried. "Just go."

They left me on the floor, in my open door way. I watched as they walked down the lawn and then cried into my hands. I do not know how long I had been there, but I was still there, crying, when my parents arrived. I only composed myself long enough to say, "Henry's gone."


	2. Chapter One

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ Thank you to my one reviewer: RemusSiriusLover, this chapter is for you. I do allow anonymous reviews, so please leave me one! For those of you who are reading, thank you!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**CHAPTER ONE**

IN the months following Henry's death, my family seemed broken. Although Henry had been "gone" for years before his death, we still had his letters, his sporadic visits, and a belief that he would always be there. When Henry had told us he would be wiping his memory from our home, our world, we had always believed it would temporary. He had told us that after the wizarding war was over, he would return and put everything back as it had always been. I had never been as thankful for my brother's stubbornness as I was now—we still had our own memories, though so few, because of his refusal to remove them. However, I had cried many nights because the memory of his face was fading. He had destroyed all pictures, records, schoolwork; anything with his name or face was gone.

Our house was always quiet. I hardly spoke to my parents and I barely saw them together. We were all grieving in the worst way possible—alone. None of us had ever dealt with such a loss. My grandparents were still alive and well, and my parents had been too young when their own grandparents had passed. We did not know how to handle death; especially a death that we could not recognize. Although we were able to keep our memories, he could not extend that courtesy to the rest of our family and especially none of our old friends. We went through the motions of our days in the same manner. My parents would leave for the office, perform the work needed, and return home. They never ventured further than the market, and that was only a bi-weekly trip on behalf of my mother to ensure our kitchen stayed stocked. I had noticed, however, Henry's favorite sweets were appearing in random places throughout the house; never eaten, only a painful reminder of his loss. My father would throw them away when my mother was out on the next shopping trip. I, on the other hand, had barely finished my final year of school. Everything else was forgotten—my friends, my boyfriend, my university applications. My dreams had died with Henry.

I spent my days sleeping and reading. I never left my room, other than to use the restroom and shower. I had lost almost twenty pounds—my appetite had never been the best, and now it was almost non-existent. When I did eat, it was at odd hours of the night, when I knew my parents would be sleeping and I could sneak into the kitchen unnoticed. Books had always been my best friends, but now, they provided a greater escape. No matter how terrifying a character's life or journey was, it was nothing compared to the living hell I was experiencing.

It was always apparent, especially before Henry left for Hogwarts, that we shared a bond much deeper than other siblings. We were twins. We knew how the other was feeling—we did not need to see the emotion in the other's face to know when we were happy, sad, angry, or hurt. My mother used to tell me that when we were babies, we soothed the other. If Henry woke up from a deep sleep, crying, I would wake up seconds before, as if I was able to anticipate his impending upset. She would then put me in the crib with him, and even though I was helpless myself, it was if just by me lying there, Henry knew he was okay.

When Henry was at Hogwarts, and our communication was lacking, I always knew that I could feel my brother. I had never shared it with my parents, and I would not dare mention it to Henry, but I would lay awake at night, feelings of dread washing over me, not quite understanding why. Then we would receive an owl about something bad that had happened to him and his friends. Three years ago, I began to feel overwhelmingly happy even when I was struggling in my own life. It was months before I was able to figure out why. Henry had begun dating a girl.

Shortly after Henry's friends had come to tell us about his death, his things arrived on our front door step. His life for the past six years was packed away into two large, old trunks. None of us opened them. Instead, my father had dared open Henry's old bedroom door, if only for a second, to push them inside. We had assumed that was all he had and choose to let his things die with him. However, a couple of nights later, while my parents were sleeping, something else arrived at my bedroom window.

I had been reading, my other source of light a small lamp I kept on my bedside table. I barely noticed when small amount of light the moon provided through my window was shadowed. So immersed in my book, I did not hear the light tapping on the window. When I did finally hear it, I froze. Even after all of those years, I _knew_ what that sound was. It was an owl.

I looked up slowly, unsure of how I should react. This owl was smaller than the one had been that delivered Henry's Hogwarts letter on our eleventh birthday. She was much more impatient as well. Although I had looked up, she was still tapping her beak against the window, waiting for me to let her in. Finally, sucking in a sharp breath, I stood and walked to the window.

She flew in quickly, satisfied I had finally heard her, and landed on the rail of my footboard. She ruffled her feathers and I just stood and stared, appreciating her beauty. She must had grown annoyed with me because she finally hooted loudly and stuck out her left claw. I gulped.

Reaching for the letter, I did not know quite what to expect. The only letters we had ever received were from Henry. Now that he was gone… I opened the letter slowly and read:

_Hermione,_

_I am sorry we met in such unfavorable circumstances. I just wanted to tell you that I loved your brother very much. He was one of the best friends I have ever had, and if I could change everything, I would in an instant._

_This is Marge, Henry's owl.— _

I stopped for a moment, studying the owl again. She had delivered every letter Henry had sent home for years, and I wondered for a moment how I could not recognize her. Perhaps it was because I had not seen her in over a year, or because for a moment, it had simply been easiest to forget. I continued to read.

_I thought she would be happier with you and your family. She, not unlike the rest of us, misses Henry very much. Maybe she can find comfort with his family._

_All my best,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. Owls are much easier to care for than you would think. They are self-sufficient. Just let her out to hunt at night. I have also included a bag of owl treats for her._

At the time, I had found it odd that he would send me an owl. What in the world was I supposed to do with an owl? But, I had kept her, following Harry's instructions for care. She had, whether she liked it or not, become my silent companion in my time of greatest need.

* * *

><p>Henry had been gone for a year and things in my life had not changed or improved. My parents, although slowly, were starting to move on and get back to their normal lives. I, however, was struggling more and more each day. I knew this was supposed to be the summer I finished my first year at university, the summer I would spend studying aboard before returning in the fall. Yet, this was not the case, as I had never applied to university or study aboard programs.<p>

Instead, I was a waitress at a local restaurant, making next to nothing and receiving even worst tips. I would hide from people I knew from school, who would come in frequently. Every time I was spotted it was the same thing.

"_Oh, Hermione! It's so good to see you! You work here? Wow. I would have thought you would be in school, impressing a new set of teachers and making the rest of us look bad._" No one ever mentioned Henry, the brother who went away to boarding school at eleven. The brother who was a wizard. The brother who was no longer here. They did not mention him, because they had never known he had ever existed, their memories long ago erase by the brother who would never replace them.

It was a Sunday evening, and the restaurant was slow business tonight, families at home, preparing to start another week. I was finishing up my section, wiping tables, ensuring everything was spotless for the next day. I had been particularly depressed all day. Marge had not been home for three days and I was beginning to worry. Although I never had her deliver letters—after all, who would she take them too—and I did not know any magic, Marge and I had formed some sort of relationship. She understood the emotions I was going through, and I understood hers.

The mood I was in only increased this afternoon when a table I was serving included two young children—a boy and a girl, twins. I had watched them the entire time they were there—laughing and playing. They were so happy, so carefree. And then, I realized exactly why, while my parents were beginning to move on, I could not. I knew nothing about my brother. Yes, I knew my brother, the one who had shared ice cream with me on the weekends, the one who played with me when the other kids were mean to me. But, I knew _nothing_ about my brother, who went away to Hogwarts, who learned magic, who was a _wizard_. How could I let someone go that I did not even know?

I rushed home, knowing exactly what I needed to do. I was not sure how I was going to do it, or if I even could. When I walking into my room, Marge was sleeping on my footboard, as if she had known I needed her to be home tonight.

I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and sat at my desk, not quite sure how to put my words on paper. I sat quietly for almost an hour, debating with myself, not sure if this was a good idea or not. Finally, I wrote:

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I don't know if you remember me or not, but I am Henry's sister, Hermione. I was writing to ask you if we could possibly meet again to talk about Henry. I've realized that I know nothing about my brother's life, and I feel as if knowing more about him will help me find the closure I need._

_Thank you,_

_Hermione Granger_

I was not satisfied with how the letter sounded. It was short and straight to the point. But, it had to be. I did not know Harry and therefore, there was no need to get personal. I was not even sure he would respond. I was a complete stranger. _It's worth a shot_, I told myself and for the first time since she had arrived at my window, I tied a letter to Marge's foot and hoped she would know exactly where to go.

"Take this to Harry Potter."

* * *

><p>A week had passed, and although Marge had returned the next day, she did not bring a response with her. I was giving up hope. Harry did not want to talk to me—he did not know me. I wondered several times if Marge had even delivered the letter—but I trusted her. Then, I felt immediately foolish, trying an <em>owl<em> to deliver an owl. I should have sent it through the post. Naturally, that was impossible, because I neither had an address nor a phone number for Harry Potter, and I vaguely remembered Henry telling us wizards do not use the post or telephones. I had found that incredibly hilarious. Why would anyone rely on only an owl for communication? The thought had sounded absurd then and it sounded absurd now. I scolded myself for even trying.

I knew I had spent too much time mourning my brother. I knew he would not be happy with me if he was here. He had always told me I was too smart for my own good, and I needed to use that knowledge to find cures for deadly diseases and end world hunger. If he saw me now, wasting away in myself, waiting tables for a living, he would be so disappointed. But yet, I was disappointed he had left me. I knew that was not his fault; he had no control over what happened to him. I had control over my situation.

I turned on my computer for the first time in a year. I had never felt the need to use it after school was over. I did not have any friends; I did not have any school assignments. Why did I need to waste my life away sitting in front of a computer screen? I brought up a search engine and with Henry's voice in the back of my head, I began to look up the universities I had been interested in applying too. I knew it was not too late. I had to go to school—if not for me, then for Henry.

I spent an hour or so looking through applicant and financial aid information. Everything I found looked promising, but I could not bring myself to get excited. I exited out of the window and instead brought up the search engine again. I stared at it for several minutes, clicking my mouse over the white, empty space of the site. Finally, I typed _Hogwarts_.

Nothing happened. I was greeted with the "Did You Mean?" page and a list of suggestions. I looked through the suggestions, not finding what I wanted. Frustrated, I tried searching other terms I remembered Henry telling us about. Still, I could not find anything to do with the magical world. I sighed and leaned back in the chair. I was upset. Although I was sure I would not hear from Harry, I had been hopeful. Without him, I would never find out about Henry or the life he loved so much.

* * *

><p>Later that night, long after my parents had fallen asleep, I snuck from my room and into Henry's. I nearly tripped over the old trunks in front of Henry's door. I shut the door quietly and flipped the light switch on. The amount of dust on everything was unbelievable, but I know I should not have been shocked. The door had not been opened in a year, and nothing had been touched in almost three years. I shook the sheets on Henry's bed, watching as the dust flew around the room, finding other places to settle. I dragged both of the trunks over to his bed, lifting them carefully onto the duvet. Then, taking a deep breath, I did something I had not done in what felt like forever—I sat on his bed.<p>

I ran my fingers along the blanket, trying desperately to remember the nights of everlasting pillow fights and movie marathons. Silent tears ran down my cheeks when I failed to do so. It had been too long, his face almost completely gone from my memories, his laugh long forgotten. Wiping my face, I tried to open the first trunk. It was locked. _How could they send us trunks with no keys?_ I sat there frustrated. This was my last link to Henry's life. I fell back onto the dirty pillows, not caring when the dust gathered around my face and attached to my bushy, untamed hair. I closed my eyes, thinking. I did not know how long I laid there for, crying. Then, I shot up suddenly, my tears stopped. The floorboard! How had I forgotten?

Henry had discovered a lose floorboard in his room when we were nine years old. It became our hiding space. We used it mostly for chocolate bars and candies we did not want our parents to find, and later, after he left for Hogwarts, I knew he used it to hid wizarding alcohol his friends sent him. I pushed his dresser to the right, remembering exactly where it had been. Once the dresser was pushed away, the loss board came up slightly, enough for me to put my fingers in and lift up.

I had to do a double take. At first, it looked as if nothing was there except for dirt and dust balls. I started to put the floorboard back down, defeated, when something silver caught my eye. I stopped and reached my hand in and pulled out two silver keys. A small smile, my first, crept onto my face.

I jumped back onto the bed, keys in hand. I opened the first trunk slowly. The first key I tried did not work, and I almost thought the second key would not work either. When the lock click opened, I made deliberate movements, ensuring I slowly removed the key again. The lid was heavy; when I finally had it opened, I did not look in right away. Then, leaning on my knees, I peered in.

Robes. All I saw were Henry's sleek, black robes he had been required to buy at Hogwarts. I remember when he brought them home after his first shopping trip with mum and dad—I had refused to go, too jealous to care. I searched through the robes, taking in Henry's scent—grass. He always smelled like grass to me. I was searching for something else—anything else. The other deviation from the sleek, black robes were Henry's red dress robes that I remembered he wore to small ball they had at the school, when I first began feeling his happiness. I closed the trunk in disappointment and thought twice about opening the second.

I had thought looking through Henry's things would give me answers—allow me closure. But looking at his robes was not helping to answer any of my questions. I bit my bottom lip, arguing with myself about what the best choice might be. Finally, I decided I had come this far, I might as well keep looking. I opened the second trunk and found Henry's school books.

Of all of the things Henry received in that first year of school, it was his books that I was most jealous of. I wanted his books so bad. Books were the only thing that seemed normal in Henry's new world, and I had been very curious about what they had contained. Henry never let me see them, meanly telling me that I was not smart enough to know what was written in them. My eleven year old ego had been crushed. I had not realized then that Henry had always been jealous of me—I was the smart twin, they one who continuously made our parents proud when it came to academics. Hogwarts was he chance to outshine me, for him to know something I never would.

Although the books had not been exactly what I had been searching for in terms of answers, I knew they would at least give me an insight into what Henry had studied while at school. I pulled the first book from the top of the piles—_Hogwarts, a History_—and I curled up into a ball on Henry's bed and began to read.

I emerged from Henry's room seven hours later, extremely tired and finally starting to feel satisfied. During the night, I had read _Hogwarts, a History_, in its entirety, amazed of this new world of Hogwarts. All of those years I had shut that part of Henry's life out, ignoring him when he tried to share stories of the talking portraits, the moving staircases, the Room of Requirement. I was angry with myself for not allowing him to share his world with me—a world that was so incredibly interesting and seemed so unreal. Reading about it in a book was hardly enough. Regardless of what the words were telling me, I could not believe that it really existed.

With _Hogwarts, a History_, tucked under my arm, I entered my room to find a very small, an owl much smaller than Henry's, zooming around my room. I would have screamed, if it was not for the fact that there was a letter on my desk. Putting my newly acquired book down, I reached for the letter, fingers trembling.

_Hermione—_

_I would be happy to help. How does next Saturday sound? _

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. Sorry about Pigwidgeon. He's Ron's owl and a bit hyperactive. He'll calm down eventually and then will be ready to take your reply._

I looked up at the small owl and smiled for the second time. I watched him for several minutes and then quickly scribbled a reply.

"Pigwidgeon," I called, impatient. "Come take this letter back to Harry." The bird seemed to ignore my voice and I sat, waiting for him to come down. I decided it did not matter though—Harry had replied—I was going to learn more about my brother's fascinating life.

_Author's Note:_The next chapter will put Hermione into the wizarding world. Reviews are very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter Two

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary: _AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ I am sorry if this chapter is a bit sloppy. :( Hermione is a sloppy character though. For those of you who think Hermione has taken her grief to the extreme, please remember people cope in a variety of different ways. Hermione has struggled with her relationship with Henry for years, and therefore, she is an unstable character who is very confused about the life she thought she knew. She has to rediscover herself, and therefore, she will not be consistent.

Additionally, it appears as if I have been out of the FF world for too long. It seems as if readers do not like to make a committment to incomplete stories (and who can blame them when I have seen many authors go MIA, including myself at one point and time- no plans to do that again, though!). So, for those of you who are reading and eagerly awaiting updates, thank you for having faith in me. However, I do ask that you leave a review. Story stats do very little to let me know if people are actually reading. I do my best to review when I read (although, I will admit that sometimes I forget). Therefore, I am proposing **review for review.** I need stories to read in my "down time" and would love to read your stories and give you a much deserved review! I am open to most things, however, my favorite pairings are naturally R/Hr and H/G. I refuse to read H/Hr or almost any other pairing with Hermione. I am not opposed to slash, but I tend to avoid too much smut in this area.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**CHAPTER THREE**

THE week leading up to my meeting with Harry was a windfall of emotions for me. I experienced more emotions then I had in the last year. I was nervous, excited, scared, happy, sad, and angry. I had decided I would not confide in my parents about my correspondence with Henry's friend. I knew they were still making progress in their own healing processes, and I was not sure how this new development would affect them. While part of me knew that like me, it would help them heal, I was also scared that it would open up old wounds, and I did not want to be responsible for that.

After the first night of opening Henry's trunks, I spent every evening reading his textbooks. Although I knew nothing of the magic they contained, and while most of it was beyond farfetched, I was intrigued by the spells and potions that allowed wizards and witches to do simple tasks, or serious damage to another person. The thing that fascinated me the most was how they kept their world so secretive. Among Henry's books were several wizarding newspapers. They were all dated the year before Henry came home to tell us he was going searching for those objects. Every headline was similar—talking about how You-Know-Who may be back and even some claiming Harry Potter was a fraud.

Then, three nights after venturing into Henry's room, I found them. Tucked away in the bottom of his trunk were letters. Without counting them all, I knew there had to be at least a hundred, if not more. I ditched the books, something very uncommon of me, and began to organize the letters—into years, who sent them. I was about a third of the way through the stack when I realized Henry had saved everything, including the letters he had taken from us, the letters he said he had to destroy. Every letter he had ever sent to us and every letter we had ever sent to him were in my hands now. These letters were like gold. Not only would they help me remember what he had told us, but with the amount of letters from his friends, and even his one-time girlfriend, I knew I could learn a lot about my brother before my meeting with Harry.

I began to cry, realizing just how stupid I was. My jealousy, my anger, had been so selfish. The way I had acted for years had caused me to push my twin away. His letters to our parents were so detailed, so elaborate, compared to mine. Comparing letters he had written to them to letters he had written to me, I noticed a sizable difference. His letters to me had always been short, brief, and factual—things I would believe. I had not realized at the time, all of his letters to me had be so informal, things about the weather at school, how he was always taking a lot of classes with a lot of homework—but never the subject matter of these classes—and no matter what: _I miss you, Hermione._ Naturally, I had neglected to notice he always told me that, and looking at the letters I wrote to him, I hardly ever told him just how much I loved him.

The letters to my parents were always several pages long and he wrote them in a narrative format every time. He went into great detail about what he was studying—charms and magical creatures and potions, which he hated the most. Rereading these letters to my parents, I not only learned more about Henry, but I began to learn about his friends as well.

Harry, I had known, was the target of the evil Lord they had fought. But I had never known why. In one of the first letters to my parents, he spent almost two pages talking about the Boy-Who-Lived. I had never realized that Harry was half muggle—the term the magical community had given to non-magical humans or humans born to non-magical parents. I vaguely remembered an argument I had with Henry after his second year at Hogwarts. It had been about my jealousy and he had told me I was "just a stupid Muggle." I had cried for days, not even sure what the term meant. I also had never realized Harry was an orphan, his parents killed by You-Know-Who. Now that Harry was in school, the Lord was after him again. I searched through more letters, finding that all of the trouble Henry found himself in was because he was helping Harry fight for his life.

Ron, I learned, was one of seven children. _Mum,_ Henry had written, _can you imagine, seven kids? There's Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George—twins like Hermione and me, Ron, and then Ginny, the only girl! Poor Ron always tries so hard with all those older brothers!_ I laughed, thinking it really did not matter how many siblings you had, the competition was always apparent. But, still, I could understand his astonishment at so many children. As I read through more and more letters, I found my own laughter, coming alive at his stories. Each one was crazier than the last, but finally, somehow, I was starting to believe.

As Henry grew older, his letters grew darker. My parents, it appeared, had known about the seriousness of the danger Henry was facing long before I did. I searched through the letters they had sent back to him, pleading with him over and over to come home. Their words showed they were struggling to be supportive, but they were fearful for his life. Obviously, they had good reason to be. _Henry isn't with us anymore_, I thought bitterly, _and somehow my parents knew this would be the case._

Once I had finished reading these letters—the sun was beginning to rise outside Henry's window—I began to read the ones his friends had sent to him. There was Harry, and Ron, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Ginny, and Parvati, who I learned to be Henry's girlfriend. My bitterness at Henry's final letters began to fade as I found my smile returning. It was apparent Henry's friends thought very highly of him. And Parvati, for whatever reason, had been head over heels in love with my brother. Through one of Parvati's very first letters, I was able to figure out exactly how and why my brother had grown so fond of her. Apparently, during that ball, Harry had asked Parvati to accompany him. Henry was seething with jealousy, which, I recalled now, I had felt too, but ignored because I thought they were my own emotions. Henry ended up attending the ball alone choosing to watch his best friend "royally screw up his date" as he had written. Shortly thereafter, within a couple of days I gathered, Henry decided he would "whoo" her away to be his. Apparently his charm worked.

I had not realized how long I had been reading my brother's letters until I heard the sound of my mother's voice coming from the hallway. She was calling for my father, reminding him they would be late if they did not leave. I had almost read through the entire stack and I did not want to stop, but I knew I had to sleep before going into the restaurant that afternoon. I finished the letter I had been reading—one from Ron, who I had learned was completely arrogant, but extremely funny—and waited to hear my parents leave from the house. I stood, stretching all of my limbs, and regretfully left my brother's room.

* * *

><p>The following days seemed to go on forever. While I had always simply gone through the motions of my day with as little emotion and interaction as possible, I had found myself carrying a genuine smile on my face. My co-workers and customers at the restaurant immediately noticed the change, complimenting me on my smile and my laughter. One of the other waitresses—Amelia, I think her name was—made a comment that she had never seen my smile. She had also asked why the change in behavior, but I had tensed up and she sensed that she should not push.<p>

My parents had noticed the change as well. For the first time since Henry's death, I had come downstairs before my parents had left for the office. It was Friday morning, and even after a week, and only through Henry's letters, I was starting to slowly come alive. Much like every other morning, I found my parents sitting at the breakfast table—my father, a mug of coffee in one hand, paper in the other, and my mother, sliced grapefruit and yogurt. Their meals had not differed in many years. I walked to the cabinet, searching for a box of cereal. I was well aware that both of my parents were staring at me in disbelief.

"Good morning," I stated, giving them a small smile. For a moment, neither one said anything. They were obviously very surprised that after all of this time, I seemed as if I may just be returning to my _normal_ self.

"Good morning," my father finally replied, returning a smile. This snapped my mother out of his shock and she smiled as well, standing.

"Hermione," she said, walking towards me and taking a bowl out of the cabinet. I thought she would say something else, but she did not, instead she silently poured me a bowl of cereal. She did this while keeping a smile on her own face. It did not go unnoticed, however, how intently she was watching me, searching for an explanation. I knew these looks very well—she had perfected them over the years when Henry and I were younger, when we created more mischief then she ever imagined possible. However, while she had perfected these looks, Henry and I had perfected our "nothing face," as we had called it. I knew my mother could not see past my smile.

"Thank you," I said, as she handed me the bowl and a spoon. Not thinking, I sat down right next to my father—Henry's old seat. I heard my mother suck in a breath, but she did not speak. When I realized where I was sitting, my smile faded. I was upset. This was Henry's seat, not mine—I could not sit here, healing or not. But, then, I felt a sense of calmness come over me, as if Henry was telling me it was okay. My smile returned and I caught my mother's eyes, trying to convey that it was okay. Henry was okay, and somehow, I was realizing, I was going to be okay too. She nodded, seemingly understanding that I was finally trying to recover.

* * *

><p>After breakfast with my parents, Friday went on uneventfully. I did not have to work at the restaurant today, and once my parents were gone, I raced upstairs. I had finished reading through Henry's letters, fascinated by everything I had learned. Still, I wanted more. I craved more. I felt as if it was my duty to Henry to learn about all the things I had neglected to care about when he was alive. I told myself that this was my way to tell him I was sorry for all of the things I had done wrong.<p>

I remembered the first Christmas he had come home. I had been so excited when we picked him up from the train station. I had so much I wanted to tell him—Bobby Wilson had tried to kiss me for goodness sakes!—and I also wanted to apologize to him for my jealousy. In the few months he was gone, I had come to the realization it was not his fault he had left me. But, as I watched him step off the platform, laughing with his new _friends_, I felt the jealousy growing in the pit of my stomach. I had thought for sure he would be miserable at Hogwarts without me and he would be too excited to see me he would forget about his _friends_.

I may have been able to keep the green eyed monsters at bay had he cared about asking me how I was. If he had been more excited to see me. If he had been more inclined to stop talking about Harry and Ron—who he wanted to stay at Hogwarts with instead of coming home—and told me he missed me. He had barely hugged me—the boys he had exited the train with were still lingering—and when he spoke, it was non-stop Hogwarts this, Harry that. It was this, rather than the mere fact that he was learning things I would never know, that caused me to begin to resent my twin.

I had tried, I reasoned, tried very hard to except what was. I could not change the past, but I could fix the present. I wanted my best friend back. I had been without him for so long. But, even in four months, my younger self knew my brother was different. He spent the entire break telling my parents about spells, potions, and his professors. I had tried to play with him, wanting to go outside and have a good old game of tag. All Henry wanted to do was talking about some sport played on a broom. A bloody _broom_! He tried explaining to me, but I had laughed, telling him he was ridiculous. _"You can't fly on a broom, you idiot!" _I had teased. After that, Henry stopped trying to tell me what he did at school.

I sighed and sat on Henry's bed, fighting back tears caused by these memories. What would our relationship be like now, had I shown more interest? I knew that still, there was a chance, that we would not be as close as we were as children. After all, we lived in two completely different worlds. But, if I had not been so cruel, had I allowed him to share the part of his world that he could, I knew we would still be close—we would still have the friendship we always had. I also wondered, if we had been closer, maybe Henry would not have died. Maybe _I _could have been the one to convince him to stay with us, instead of fighting a battle that I did not think was his. _Maybe…_

I sat on Henry's bed for a long time, just thinking, trying to recall every happy memory I had of Henry. There were very few after our eleventh birthday. I had begun and curled up on the bed to comfort myself. _Maybe I shouldn't go see Harry tomorrow_, I thought. It was all starting to be too much. _No, _I argued, chastising myself. _You have grieved for long enough, Hermione. You have wasted a year of your life, trying to forget, wishing things would change. They're not going to—it's time to embrace your feelings and learn to deal with them. If Henry saw you, boy, would he be disappointed._

Wiping my tears away, I sat up. The rationale side of myself was right, but the emotional side wanted to lay in bed for longer, forgetting the world. I had allowed that part to take over for too long. Determined, I gathered up some of Henry's letters, the ones I had considered the most important to decoding my brother. I wanted to take them with me tomorrow morning, hoping that by having specific questions, I would learn more from Harry. I left Henry's room, anxious for Friday to end quickly.

* * *

><p>The next morning, I left before my parents had awoken. I left them a note, something I had not done in a long time, letting them know where I was. <em>Mum,<em> I had written, _I have gone to the library for the morning. See you this evening! Love, Hermione_. I was not sure how my parents would react to the note—other than work, I had not left the house for any other reason.

Harry and I had agreed to meet at a café a couple of blocks from my house. While I was concerned there was an off chance my parents would see us, I did not want to venture too far from home. We had agreed to meet at eight thirty, but I had left much earlier than that. I knew that if I waited till the last minute, I would change my mind. I decided to walk, choosing a longer path, to give myself time to think. There was so much going on in my head that I could not comprehend a coherent thought. Although I had "prepared" things I wanted to say and questions I wanted to ask, I was nervous. Harry was Henry's best friend after all, and deep down, I knew I wanted Harry to like me as much as he had like Henry.

I arrived at the café a little past eight. I looked around, looking for a face I had seen in pictures and only in person once. I had not expected him to be there yet, in fact, I hoped he was not, but after only a moment, my eyes caught the jet black hair, sitting in a booth in the corner. I took a deep breath. _It's now or never_.

As I approached him, Harry looked up, a smile on his face. "Hermione," he said, standing to greet him.

"Harry," I whispered, barely able to pronounce his name. He helped me into the booth. We did not have a chance to say anything else—the waitress had noticed my arrival and was immediately by my side, asking what I would like to drink. I ordered a water and she left as quickly as she had come.

I waited for Harry to say something else. I waited for me to say something too. But, my brain had locked up, forgetting everything. I somehow formed and smile and Harry said, "Well…"

"Well…" I repeated and he chuckled. This was not going exactly how I expected. The waitress returned then, placing my water on the table in front of me.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked, pen and pad out and ready.

"I'll have breakfast number five," Harry said, matter-of-factly, as if he had been here before. _Or, _I thought, _he'd been here long enough to study the menu._

"And for you?" she said, looking at me.

"S-same," I stammered, mad at myself to looking like a fool. The waitress nodded and took our menus.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "I am just overwhelmed."

"I understand," he replied, sincerity in his eyes. "It's been a rough year."

"For you too?" I inquired, intrigued. _You're alive though_, I thought bitterly.

Harry nodded and took a sip from his coffee. "I lost a lot of friends last year. I still have not forgiven myself for all of their deaths."

"But," I said confused. "It's not your fault."

Harry nodded, unconvinced. He was holding back, I knew, but I remained silent. "Anyway," Harry said, "today is not about me. It's about you. Anything I can do to help."

I searched his eyes, still finding the same sincerity and understanding. I knew why my brother had befriended the dark haired boy—man—so easily. I did not have to know him to know he was a very caring, loving, and selfless person. Finally, I spoke.

"I am not quite sure what I am looking for," I started. "After that day when you told me… I haven't been the same. I took, and am still taking, Henry's death very hard."

"You were twins, right?" Harry interjected. I nodded. "Ron," he added, "he had twin brothers, Fred and George. Fred died in the war too. I have witnessed how hard it has been for George. And while I could never begin to relate or understand myself, I have watched what he has suffered through and I know it is not easy."

"It's not," I agreed. "Henry was everything to me." I felt the tears forming, but for some reason, I felt extremely comfortable with Harry. I _wanted_ to talk to him. I continued. "When we were younger, we did everything together. There was never Henry without Hermione or Hermione without Henry." I laughed. "Our parents would joke, saying if we were the same gender, we would be one person, we were never apart. I thought that was how it would always be.

"When Henry got his letter from Hogwarts, I was devastated. Naturally, I was jealous. But, I was hurt. Henry was leaving me. We wouldn't be together anymore. The first term, I only had myself to keep me company—I was never good at making friends, Henry always did that for us. When he left, _our_ friends didn't want to be friends with just me. They wanted Henry. I was miserable, and I had hoped Henry was too. But, for years, I watched how happy he was—without me. And, I didn't think he cared."

I let the tears flow, and I felt Harry reached out and grab my hand. "He cared," he whispered, stroking my hand with his thumb. I knew I should feel weird, but it was oddly comforting. "He talked about you all of the time." I knew Harry was trying to make me feel better, but it only increased my sobbing. I had not cried in front of anyone. That had never been my personality. Now, here I was opening up to a stranger!

"I-I-I know th-that now," I choked. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I just—I just wish I knew that then. I missed so much because I was such a—such a prat!" I said the last bit too loudly, and I noticed several of the other customers look at me, concerned. I pulled my hands from Harry's, hiding my eyes. "I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"No, don't be sorry," he said. "You can trust me." I looked up to see him smiling, trying to reassure me. I tried to return it as our food was placed in front of us, the waitress oblivious to my sobs. I did not break eye contact, wanting, hoping that I could believe him.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em> Remember **review for review. **:)

And for those reading my other story, Lost in Love, I hope to have this updated by Friday. I am working out kinks in my plot on that story. I admit, I rushed into it a little too quickly and did not think all of my story lines through, and I do not want to post crap just for the sake of posting.

For those of you celebrating Christmas: **Merry Christmas!** I have been baking all day and just finished wrapping all of my gifts! Posting this chapter was a reward to myself for all of my house wife hard work. :D


	4. Chapter Three

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary: _AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ Thank you to my reviewers. Keep putting a smile on my face. I need it. I would like to answer some questions that were asked in reviews:

**Addressing Ron's arrogance: **I agree, it is very unlike Ron's character. However, keep in mind, Ron is one of seven children, and has always had a sense of jealousy to him. I picture him trying to speak highly of himself in letters to friends', attempting to make himself "cooler." Additionally, this is Hermione's opinion through letters only, and therefore, his true personality does not show through. She will not have this same opinion of him when she meets him.

**Can I make the chapters longer:** As a FF reader myself, I understand the desire for longer chapters. It always sucks when there is an update and chapters are not as long as we wish. However, I am comfortable with the length of my chapters. I feel if I were to make them longer it would be a lot of unnecessary filler and make them boring. I will try my best however.

_**Additionally: **_**I am not 100% pleased with this chapter. I feel as if I did not do justice to either Harry or Hermione's characters. They are both very complex characters and cannot always be understood. Hopefully, this chapter does not disappoint. I may also be unhappy with myself, because I am struggling to modify events of the books to fit my plot line. I want to stay as canon as possible, but obviously, a certain bushy haired witch has to be edited out and a BOY put in her place. Doesn't leave room for all the fun sexual tension. HAHA. Anyways, Ron will be in the next chapter, and from there, the R/Hr romance we all yearn for will begin to develop. **

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**CHAPTER THREE**

"So," Harry started. "What would you like to know?"

It was a loaded question. What did I want to know? I wanted to know the man Henry had become. I wanted to know about what he had learned in his time at Hogwarts. I wanted to know what his favorite things to do had been. I wanted to know who his friends were. I wanted to know more about Parvati, his girlfriend. I wanted to know why he had chosen to fight. I wanted to know why and how he had died. Most important, I wanted to know if he had ever thought about me, if he had ever talked about me. Instead of overwhelming Harry, I answered as simply as I could.

"Everything."

Harry chuckled, as if he had expected this response. We had left the café, our breakfast finished. After my crying episode, Harry did not press me, and I appreciated the silence he allowed me. We ate quickly and quietly and at his suggestion, left promptly after we had finished. I had not realized it, but the café was now an uncomfortable setting, having been witness to my break down. Without words, we had agreed to just walk, heading towards the park a few minutes away. Luckily, it was the perfect day to do so, and the weather put me at ease.

"Everything could take a while," he said.

"I know." I sighed, searching for the words. "It's my fault," I whispered, "that I need to know everything. I ruined our relationship. I never gave him a chance to share his life with me."

Harry nodded. "Henry always told me you were very stubborn." I stopped walking and looked at Harry.

"He said that?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "I did not mean to offend you."

I shook my head. "I'm just surprised. When—when Henry came home, that last time, he told us we would be safe because he hardly mentioned us."

"Yes, to the rest of the wizarding world," Harry agreed, "but to us, he talked about you all of the time. He always told us how much he missed you, especially, and how much he wished you were at Hogwarts too. The first year or two, he was very upset. He never understood why he had magic and you didn't. He spent most of our first year in the library, looking for answers. He also asked everyone. No one could give him a satisfying answer."

I started walking again, trying to process the information. Henry had never shared any of this information with me, and to the best of my knowledge, our parents either. He never mentioned in his letters that he wanted me there too. I was surprised and sad. I had always assumed Henry was much happier in his new life—without me.

"I—I never knew that," I stammered. "But," I admitted, "I barely spoke to Henry after he left. I regret it more than anything now."

We had reached the park now, and we sat together on one of the benches.

"Tell me about his first year," I said. I settled on the bench, ready to learn everything I could about my brother.

* * *

><p>Harry and I stayed on that park bench, talking and laughing, for hours. As requested, he began to tell me about their first year at Hogwarts. They had met on the train. Harry and Ron had already met and were sharing a compartment, when Henry had barged in. He had been looking for another boy's toad, which had escaped for the "fourth bloody time and it's getting rather annoying." Without an invitation and abandoning his previous search, Henry sat down next to Harry when he noticed Ron was attempting a spell—trying to turn his rat yellow.<p>

"When Ron couldn't do it, Henry gave him a funny look and laughed. 'I don't think that's right,' he had said. Ron was really upset. You see, he is the youngest brother of the family, and he thought he never did anything right. Ron later shared with me he wasn't so sure about befriending your brother. 'Bit of a showoff, isn't he?' he had asked. In fact, it was partly Ron's doing that delay our friendship—even though we all shared a room.

"Henry was always studying, and he had all of our textbooks and then some read within the first month we were there. Being muggleborn never stopped him from receiving top marks, and Ron wasn't the only jealous one. All of the first years were jealous of his talent for spells, including myself. Our jealously, I think, went to his head. On Halloween of that year, during dinner, a troll had somehow managed to make its way into the castle. While the entire school panicked, I had noticed Henry's eyes light up and immediately knew he was up to something. While Ron tried to rush to the common room as instructed by our professors, I noticed Henry slip off down the corridor where hushed voices rumored the troll to be. I had grabbed Ron, much to his displeasure, and followed Henry.

"Sure enough, we found that Henry had gone off to find the troll, but the troll had found Henry first, cornering him in the girls' bathroom. Regardless of all of Henry's accomplishments in class, he obviously was no match for a troll. Then again, neither were Ron and I, but without hesitation, we both ran in and tried to help him. It had been awful; none of us knew how to fight him off; Henry was trapped under the destroyed sinks, and Ron and I were rubbish at spells."

I listened intently as Harry depicted the tale. I remembered Henry's version, in one of the first letters he had ever written my parents. However, I found a small smile, also remembering that Henry had painted a very different picture—one where he was the hero.

"Through all of it, Henry had yelled at Ron, reminding him of the levitation spell we had only just learned that afternoon. Henry had been the only one to accomplish it while in class; Ron and I could barely get our feathers to move. Anyway, Ron had reacted more quickly than me, and performed the spell with ease, levitating the troll's own club. He managed to knock the troll out cold, just in time for the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and a few of our professors to discover us." Harry paused, laughing. "We all covered for one another, never revealing the truth to how we all ended up in the girls' bathroom with the troll. We had served in detention for weeks afterwards."

I laughed along with Harry, recalling the aforementioned detention as detailed by Henry. He had went on for almost a page about how much he hated detention, and upset that was the thanks they had received for defeating a dangerous troll.

After Harry had told me the story of their first Halloween together, he continued to share about their first year and the growing friendship with my brother. I also began to learn about Harry, and why he attracted so much trouble. You-Know-Who actually had a name—I always assumed he was nameless since Henry had never given us one. Lord Voldemort had tried to kill Harry when he was only a baby, believing a prophecy he had been given information about. Harry continued to detail the adventures at the end of their first year, and Voldemort's first attempt at killing Harry.

I could not believe how brave Henry had been—sticking by his best friends' sides, ensuring that Harry was safe. I was intrigued by the things they had to do to secure a stone that would allow Voldemort to live forever—I had to stop myself from laughing, because really, who could really live forever?

"Without Henry, his endless thirst for knowledge, and his skills, I would not be here today," Harry admitted sadly.

I studied his face carefully after he made this statement. Many emotions were written there—appreciation, sadness, regret, guilt. His watering eyes matched my own, but I told myself not to cry again. I had to remember that placing blame on someone for Henry's death would not bring him back. Harry, especially, was not the person to blame. He had loved and cared for my brother very much, that much was apparent. The way Harry spoke of Henry was very respectful and full of admiration.

"I only wish," Harry was saying, holding back his own tears, "that I had had enough of those same skills to have saved him."

This time, I took his hand, trying to extend the same comfort he had given me hours before. We fell into silence again, both lost in our own thoughts. Of all of my brother's traits, I had never really considered him brave. After all, I never really knew how brave he had been in his short life. Due to my closed mind, I had refused to really see everything my brother was doing while he was away at school. I had missed even more than I had thought.

Harry cleared his throat, composing himself. "It's such a small part of his life, our first year. It seems like it happened so long ago, but really, it wasn't. Despite what we did at the end, we were still so innocent, carefree. I wish that things could have stayed that way. My teenage years were robbed from me by a selfish wizard, and in turn I robbed my friends of theirs as well."

I shook my head, disagreeing. "Last week, after I sent you that letter, I decided to go look through Henry's things. I found letters, every letter Henry had received, and every letter we sent to him. I read them all, Harry, and I do not believe for a second Henry thought he was being robbed. You should see the letters he wrote my parents. Always so animated. He loved the things he was doing! That had always been the difference between Henry and I. While we both loved books, I was content in living my life through them, while Henry wanted to experience them."

Harry nodded in agreement and then looked at his watch. "Merlin! It's almost three."

"Oh, my. I need to get home. I haven't left the house for anything other than work since Henry's death," I admitted sheepishly. "I know my parents understand my love of the library, but I am not quite sure if they will believe I was there this entire time."

Harry gave me a puzzled look. "You didn't tell you parents you were meeting me?"

My cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "No," I admitted. "I wasn't quite sure how they would react. Much like myself, their healing process has been slow, but they have been coping much better. I didn't want to mess that up for them."

"What will you tell them when we met again?"

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"Well, I only told you about our first year. That's hardly everything about Henry." He paused. "And," he added quietly. "We are all interested in you as well."

"We?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "After I heard from you, I told Ron, and Ginny, and then naturally, everyone knew I was coming to meet you. Ron wanted to come, but I had told him no. I didn't want to overwhelm you. But, they all expressed their desire to meet Henry's sister. Like I said, Henry may not have divulged his life with the wizarding world, he told us everything about you."

I did not respond, unsure of what to say. Henry's friends were interested in knowing me?

"In fact, if you want to know everything about Henry, you should probably talk to his other friends too. Mrs. Weasley wanted you to come to the Burrow—stay a couple of days—but I knew that was a little over the top. However, in time, I think it would be best to meet some of them, on your own terms, to learn about Henry. I can only share what I know, but Henry touched a lot of people." He said all of this very quickly, as if he was worried about my reaction.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

"Ron's mom."

"Yeah, but she wants me to stay where?"

Harry chuckled. "Oh, that's right. The Burrow. It's their home."

"Oh."

"What do you say we meet again next Saturday? Maybe make an entire day of it? I'm sure I can cover two or three years in a day's time." He laughed, as if he had just told a very funny joke. I shook my head. "Oh," Harry said quietly, looking disappointed. "Well, I understand. It was silly of me. I wasn't thinking—this is a lot for you to take in and—"

"Harry," I interrupted.

"—you probably want some time to process—"

"Harry," I repeated, louder.

"Yeah?"

"I want to go to the Burrow."

I was not quite sure what I was doing. Harry was right—perhaps I should give myself time, give myself space, to process everything. I should be giving it a few weeks, and then meeting with Harry again, in a place I was in control of. But, as painful as it was, listening to stories about my brother, it was oddly satisfying. I wanted more. Yet, could I not just continue to meet with Harry? I did not know Mrs. Weasley or their family, and I probably should not trust anyone who names their house the Burrow. At the Burrow, I would not be in control of my surroundings. However, Henry had spent his summers there, I remembered, and regardless of information overload, I wanted to see the place Henry considered his second home.

"You do?" Harry looked dumbfounded. He obviously had extended the invitation assuming I would not accept the offer.

I nodded fervently, before I could change my mind. I was not quite sure if it was a good idea, to impose on someone else's family. I also knew it probably was not idea to put myself in a situation where I would inevitably be uncomfortable. What could it hurt though? I had wasted a year of my life, alone, thinking about what had been. In that moment, I could not think of a better way to restart my life, among the people who had known my brother best, the people who could help me reconnect with him.

* * *

><p>When I returned home, I found my parents in the den, watching a documentary on some wild animal. I would normally try to sneak past them and slip up the stairs to my bedroom. Today, I found myself stopping the doorway, watching them. In the months after Henry's death, my parents isolated themselves. I had noticed immediately they were not sharing their room anymore, not riding to work together or generally speaking to each other at all. I assumed the only time they were even around each other was when they were at the office, but I could not be sure. We were all coping with our loss in very different ways, unable to console one another.<p>

I was not sure if my parents had been arguing, unable to find the love they shared while they no long had their son. Their lack of conversation and affection would generally point to that conclusion. I never investigated though, too immersed in my own sorrow. I had barely noticed when they began to heal, still unable to do so myself.

Watching them from the doorway—my father's arm around my mother's shoulders, her head in his lap—I knew they had come to terms with Henry's lost. They had finally reached their peace and accepted that their son was no longer with them. I smiled sadly, both content and jealous of this notion. I wondered how they had reached this point; this point of healing. How were they different from myself? Why did I feel a need to _know_ Henry before I could let him go? Granted, my parents had known more than I had, but after talking with Harry today, I knew there was much more to Henry then what could be conveyed in letters.

I was not sure how they would react to my most recent decision, especially since I had neglected to tell them about my meeting. After telling Harry that yes, I did want to visit the Burrow, we agreed that I would stay for the upcoming weekend. I did not think my parents would be objective to me spending two days away from home—if I had been the least bit sociable, in the past year, and in my entire life. I had never gone to sleepover parties or overnight camps. And, even if I had, this was still very different. I was going to say with _Henry's_ friends, people I had never known, people my parents had never met. Regardless of my age, and that I was a consenting adult, I did not believe they would be the least bit happy with me.

I noticed the documentary was coming to a close, and as the credits began to roll, I cleared my throat, allowing my presence to be known. Startled, both of my parents jumped slightly before turning their attention to me.

"Hermione, dear," my mother said, her voice full of worry, "we were wondering when you would be home."

I swallowed. "I'm sorry." _It's now or never, Hermione._

"What are you sorry for?" My father asked, as he pat the cushion, signaling for me to join them.

"I lied to you."

"Lied?" my father asked, his brow furrowed. "Why would you have reason to lie?"

I sat down in between my mother and father and began to play with my hands. I could not do this. It was all beginning to be too much. I would send Marge to Harry in the morning, explaining that I could not come to the Burrow after all. I would thank him for his time, but unfortunately, he was right. I was overwhelming myself. I felt my mother place her hand on my back, rubbing small circles in between my shoulders, trying to comfort me. I felt the tears coming. _Give me strength, Henry. Please, I need you._

"I—I wasn't at the library today."

"You weren't?" my mother questioned. "Well, did you go into the restaurant?"

I shook my head. "No, I went to see Harry."

"Harry…" my father trailed, confused.

My mother had stopped her fingers on my back. "Isn't that one of Henry's friends?" she whispered. She had choked on Henry's name, but continued. "The one who told us?"

I nodded silently. I could already feel the emotion shift in the room. I started to doubt myself again.

None of us spoke, processing our own thoughts. Finally, my father said, "Hermione, is everything okay?"

I sobbed, unable to hold back my tears for the second time that day. Instantly, I felt both of my parents fumble to put their arms around me, holding me. I had created a very awkward situation for ourselves. My parents had not had to comfort me since I was a little girl.

"I'm ready to start healing," I said after a couple of minutes. "I know if Henry—" I paused, thinking about what I was about to say. Is this what Henry would have wanted? I wanted to feel the reassurance I had been given before, the reassurance I was sure Henry had given me before. I felt nothing, but continued anyway. "I know if Henry were here, he would be really upset with me. What have I done with my life? Nothing! I have wasted away in my room and I don't want to do that anymore. I will always miss Henry, but I'm not getting him back. I need to be able to mourn him openly, but still go on with my own life."

I had not voiced these feelings to anyone before, and once I was finished, I felt a sense of relief, and oddly enough, the reassurance I had hoped for only seconds before.

"I went into Henry's room," I admitted. I searched my mum's face first; I expected to see hurt, anger, sadness on her face. I was met with support. I looked at my dad next, and found the same unwavering support. "I realized that I have had a hard time letting go because I do not know what I am letting go of. I didn't know Henry. And I regret the way I treated him so much. But, now, I have to know about him. I can't let him go until I know the wonderful person he was.

"He saved the letters. All of them, even the letters he told us he needed to destroy. I hadn't realized how unreceptive I had been. I didn't believe him and the world he lived in, and I never knew that while I was receiving short letters from him, I was missing out on the amazing stories he was telling you. I was able to learn a little about him through those letters. But, even before I had made the decision to go look at Henry's things, I had sent a letter to Harry, asking to meet with him. I thought the best way to learn about Henry and his life was through his best friend. Harry didn't write me back right way, and I thought he never would. That is why I went through Henry's things. I never expected to find those letters."

"Can—can we see them?" my mother asked slowly. I nodded.

"At first, I wasn't even going to tell you. I wasn't sure how you would handle it."

"What changed your mind?" my father asked.

"Well, after meeting with Harry this afternoon, I decided to go stay with the Weasleys—Ron's family." I saw both of my parents begin to object, but I continued. "I know you don't think this is a good idea, but this isn't about anyone else except for me and my closure with Henry. It's not easy to let go, and I don't think I ever will. I _need_ this step to finish my recovery. Then, maybe, I can continue with my life again."

"Hermione, I'm not so sure that is a good idea."

"Mum, I _have_ to do this."

"I just don't understand. I know it has been a long time, but your father and I were able to heal…" her voice trailed off.

I looked away, not wanting to see my mother's face at the moment. I knew it seemed illogical, but it was the only thing that made sense.

"I'm doing it," I said sternly. "With or without your approval."

* * *

><p><strong>Beta Request: <strong>Before posting Chapter Three, I was rereading through chapters one and two and realized I had quite a few mistakes. Obviously, my self-editing is not very efficient, regardless of reading chapters multiple times before posting. I have always been told it is much harder to find your own mistakes than the mistakes of others. Therefore, **I am requesting a second set of eyes**_**. **_I need a beta to proofread my chapters before posting, looking for spelling/grammar mistakes, mistakes in reference to the Harry Potter world, and mistakes in general. Also, it would be nice to have a second brain to make suggestions here and there, even though I have the general plot of this story mapped out in my head. If you are interested in this task, please let me know.

_Author's Note:_ I have been very quick to update this story because I am currently on Christmas vacation. I will be returning to work on January 3rd, and I anticipate getting at least one more chapter (Chapter Four) posted before I return to work. Unfortunately, I work 10-12 hour days, M-F, and almost always bring work home with my on the weekends. Therefore, my updates will become less frequent. I cannot make any promises, but if the story continues to flow easily from my brain, then hopefully I can update every two weeks. **As always, please review. :) **


	5. Chapter Four

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ I won't lie: I am a little disappointed with the lack of response for Chapter 3. However, based on my hit count, I think I can safely assume there is a good handful or so who are reading this story religiously. That alone is the only reason why I am posting Chapter 4 tonight. However, I am being to get discouraged and I am not sure if I should even waste my time in finishing this story. I want to, I really do; but why should I dedicate all of my free time writing something that no one is reading? Please, good or bad, please leave a review.

Additionally, all chapters following this will begin to focus on Hermione's developing attraction to Ron. Unfortunately, he is not in this chapter much at all, but he will definitely be a focus point from here on out. So if you want to see our favorite character, please leave a review and tell me so! Peas and carrots. :)

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER FOUR<strong>

AFTER their initial shock, my parents confided in me that they were very supportive of what I was doing. They said that while they could not necessarily agree with my staying with the Weasleys, they would support me in my venture. I was glad of this, because as the weekend grew closer, I became more and more nervous. I had never been comfortable in situations in which I was not familiar, and this was not any different.

I began my packing almost immediately and constantly found myself unpacking and repacking again. For one, I was trying to chicken out. I would return from a long day at the restaurant and get lost in my own thoughts. _You're crazy, Hermione_, I would tell myself. _What do you expect to gain?_ Nothing, I would reason, and then unpack my clothes. Then, coming to my senses, I would repack my suitcase again. This cycle repeated itself several times a day in the time leading up to Harry's arrival.

We had agreed he would pick me up Friday night, after I had finished my shift at work. It was originally planned that I would arrive at the Burrow on Saturday morning, just in time for breakfast. But, after finally sending an owl to Harry, admitting that although I was still coming, I was very nervous and overwhelmed. He had sent Marge back immediately, sympathizing with my feelings. He told me he would get me the evening before, which would allow me time to settle in for the weekend before meeting all of the Weasleys. He assured me no one else would be at the house except for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny Weasley, the only girl and baby of the family. She was the last of the Weasleys still living at home, having just finished her education at Hogwarts.

"Have a good weekend," I shouted to Amelia as I left the restaurant Friday evening. It was six o'clock, and Harry was due to get me at seven thirty. I would have just enough time for a shower and to double check that I had everything needed for my weekend away. As I had never been anywhere before, I felt as if I was over packing, but I knew I would rather be safe than sorry. I had wanted to take Henry's letters with me, but I had parted with those at the beginning of the week, giving them to my parents as promised. Instead, I packed away _Hogwarts, a History_ and one of Henry's school robes. I was rereading _Hogwarts, a History_ for the third time, finding more information about the school than I had in my previous readings. Henry's robe, I was not quite sure why I was packing. It seemed odd, taking up space with something I would not wear, but it was a comforting reminder of why I was doing this.

My parents were not home when I arrived, which I found strange. I had felt sure they would be here to meet Harry, and if nothing else, to see me on my way. I found a note on the dining room table. Apparently, my father had been stuck at the office with a patient, and as luck would have it, an emergency call was made, which required my mother's assistance with another patient. I sighed. I had wanted my parents here, but maybe it would be easier to leave without them. Writing a quick note to them, telling them that I loved them and would see them on Monday, I ran up the stairs to get ready.

An hour and a half later, I was pacing my living room in front of the fireplace. Harry had told me via owl that he would be traveling by Floo. In other words, he would be coming _through my fireplace_. I had heard Henry talked about it once, but this form of travel seemed to be the craziest thing about the wizarding world I had heard yet. I still did not understand how they did not get burned.

Then, if I had not been expecting him, I surely would have had a heart attack in my living room. The flames in the grate ignited suddenly and then, Harry was there. He smiled at me widely and dusted off his shoulders.

"Evening, Hermione," he greeted.

"Hello," I said weakly, my nerves apparent.

Noticing my unease, Harry asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely," I swallowed.

"Are you comfortable taking the Floo?" Harry asked. He gave me a worried look. "I didn't really think to ask if you would prefer Muggle transportation. I remember my first time and it wasn't very comfortable…" He was beginning to ramble.

"It—It's fine," I said, but as an afterthought added: "Does it hurt?"

Harry chuckled. "Not at all. A little uncomfortable, but not painful in the slightest."

"Well, I am always up for trying new things," I lied. I picked up my suitcase.

"Is this everything?" Harry asked, taking my bag from me.

"I think so," I said and squared my shoulders. Harry pulled a small pouch from his pocket and extended it to me.

"Take a pinch of this, throw it into the hearth while saying 'The Burrow' and walk into the flames." I nodded but did not move. "I'll be right behind you, I promise," Harry reassured me. I knew he could see the fear in my eyes. "It's okay."

Nodding again, I followed his directions. I threw the powder into the hearth and shouted, "The Burrow." I closed my eyes and before I could let my fear overcome me, I stepped in.

It felt like I was falling. I could see a variety of colors and random objects flying quickly in front of my eyes. At one point, something hit my elbow. And, as quick as it had started, it was over. I had fallen out into what I could only assume was the Burrow's kitchen. Standing up, I noticed the room was rather cramped, a large, wooden table taking up much of the space. The back wall was lined with cabinets and counters, housing the large, double sink. I had to do a double take because a wash rag was currently washing the dishes. _On its own_. I rubbed my eyes as I heard Harry arrive next to me, landing eloquently on his feet.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" He whispered into my ear, seeing my gaze locked on the dishes. Unable to form any words, I nodded again. If Harry had not thought I was crazy before, he surely had to think so now. I had barely spoken to him since he had come to collect me. I felt him grab my hand and he said, "Come on, I'll take you to your room."

He led me to the stairs and up we went. Although it was dimly lit, I could see the picture frames lining the walls, all of red-headed children, in various stages of development. I easily spotted Ginny, her long red hair standing out amongst a sea of brothers. When we reached the first landing—I had a strange feeling there were many more—Harry led me to a door in the far left corner.

"This is Bill's old room," he told me as he opened the door. I remember Henry's letter—Bill was the oldest of the Weasleys and, I assumed, had long moved out of his childhood home. The room was simple—a window was on the far wall, a desk directly under it. There were two beds in the room, one on each of the opposite walls, dressers nestled at the foot of each one. Mementos from the eldest Weasley's childhood had long since been removed. The blue walls were bare of pictures and posters, and there were two single vases of flowers on either nightstand table.

Harry sat my suitcase on the right bed. "Charlie and Bill shared this room at one point," Harry said, explaining the presence of two beds. "Now, Bill shares it with his wife when they come to visit." I nodded. "So, would you like to stay here and settle in, or would you like to meet Ginny?"

The thought of staying in this room alone was appealing. I lived a life of solitary confinement and thus I was most comfortable by myself. However, this trip was not about being alone; it was about getting to know Henry, and therefore, I had to meet his friends.

"I'd like to see Ginny," I said with as much confidence as I could muster.

"Good," Harry replied with a smile. "She's right down the hallway," he added, taking my hand again and leading me back down the hallway. We stopped at the door on the right, directly off of the staircase. I thought Harry would have knocked, but he walked right in, as if it was his own room.

"Harry." I heard her voice before I saw her.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said as Ginny came into view. She was sitting with her legs crossed at the head of her bed. She had a book open in front of her and her smile was wide as Harry made his way to her. Once he reached her, he kissed her on the forehead. _That explains why he didn't knock_, I thought. Then, he told her, "Ginny, this is Hermione, Henry's sister."

Ginny was on her feet now, smiling warmly at me. She made to hug me, but I stuck my hand out instead. She seemed taken aback for a moment, but then seemed to remember that we had never met, and naturally, I was not comfortable hugging her. Her smile only faded slightly as she shook my hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

"Same to you," I replied, finally giving her a smile.

"Where are your parents?" Harry asked, looking out of Ginny's window.

"Out in the garden, I think. Mum didn't want to overwhelm you," she explained to me. "She usually spends most of her time in the kitchen, even though there is not a house full to feed anymore." She laughed and motioned for me to sit down. I looked around and found her desk chair. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

"So, Hermione," Ginny said, sitting opposite me on the bed. "What was Henry like before Hogwarts?" I saw Harry send Ginny a pointed look.

"Ginny," he warned. I shook my head.

"No, it's okay, Harry." I had only just met Ginny, but I could tell she was not the type of person to hold back. She was straight to the point and I found it oddly refreshing. I had spent my life around parents who tiptoed around my feelings and the people at school never cared enough to tell me like it was.

"Yeah, Harry," Ginny repeated, "it's okay."

This caused me to giggle and then Ginny joined in my laughter. Harry sighed, defeated, and joined Ginny on the bed. Then, for the first time in my life, I settled in to talk about my brother, the brother I had known and loved, and the brother I could never forget.

* * *

><p>I spent nearly two hours with Harry and Ginny in her room, recounting stories of mine and Henry's childhood. It was a nice change of pace for me. I had spent the last year mourning his death, and years before that sulking in my own jealousy. But, now I was able to reflect on the happy memories of my twin. Harry and Ginny were the perfect audience. They listened intently and never interrupted me. They seemed to really enjoy the stories of their friend.<p>

I was very relaxed by the time I finished and we heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley making their way up the stairs. Ginny had hopped off the bed, stopping her parents before they continued to the next landing.

"Mum," Ginny called, "Hermione's here."

"Oh, dear, I was wondering if she had arrived yet." Harry grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he said. "We've been here for hours, but Ginny and I were hogging all of Hermione's attention."

Mrs. Weasley beamed at Harry. "It's quite all right, dear," she said. "I wouldn't have expected anything else." Mr. Weasley chuckled and extended his hand.

"It is very nice to meet you, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said. "Your brother was a great man."

"Thank you, sir."

"Yes, Hermione, very good to meet you. We have heard so many wonderful things about you. I only wish we could have met sooner and under different circumstances."

Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement. "Oh, yes, I have always wanted to talk to you about t-v-what-cha-ma-gadgets and d-v-players."

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "Leave the poor girl alone!" I smiled.

"It's okay," I insisted. Naturally, Mr. Weasley had as many questions about my world as I had about his.

"Tomorrow, dears, tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said. "We were on our way to bed, and I expect you do the same. Harry, you really should be getting home."

Harry nodded and hugged the older woman. "Yes, ma'am."

"We will see you in the morning," Mr. Weasley added, leading his wife out of the room.

"She's right," Harry admitted. "Ron's probably going crazy at home, wondering where I am. I'm surprised he hasn't come over, thinking that instead of collecting Hermione, I have spent my evening ruining his only sister!" Harry and Ginny laughed at his joke. Suddenly feeling out of place, I looked away as they shared an embrace and another soft kiss.

"Hermione," Harry said, "I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, Ginny knows how to contact me." I nodded and waved at him as he left me in Ginny's room.

"Sorry," Ginny mumbled. "We probably made you uncomfortable."

"No," I lied. "It's fine." Ginny's smile returned.

"How about I show you the house before bed?"

I nodded eagerly, remembering how intrigued I was by the kitchen and sure that the rest of the house would be just as fascinating. We started downstairs, in the garden, and I was given a full view of the house. Although it was dark out, I could see the house appeared to be lopsided. I may have had a hard time believing the magical world, but there was no denying that the Burrow would only survive in the magical world.

Ginny took me back through the kitchen—the dishes long finished and everything was still and silent. We quickly went through the sitting room and then made our way to the second landing. It was here that she began to tell me stories about her brothers.

"This was Percy's room," she said, pointing to, and then opening, a dark blue door. "Percy is probably the smartest of us all. He always has some bit of factual knowledge to share with us. However, his genius is not without faults. When Voldemort first came back, he didn't believe Harry or Dumbledore or anyone else who believed it. He stuck by the ministry, hanging onto the lies they told to cover it up. They didn't want a scandal. It caused quite a riff in our family for a long time. In fact, he only came back to us last year—during the battle." I did not say anything, instead choosing to listen carefully as she detailed her siblings' lives.

Passing Percy's door, she lead me to the next door on the opposite side of the hall. Unlike Percy's door, she did not open this one and with a hint of sadness in her voice said, "This was F-Fred and George's room." _Fred_, I thought_, he is the twin that was killed._ "This room used to be the source of all of our entertainment. The twins developed some of their best pranks and jokes in that room. I don't think anyone has been in here since his death." I nodded, understanding.

"It's easier to pretend it isn't there if the door stays closed," I supplied, knowing this was the very reason it had taken me so long to go into Henry's room.

Ginny nodded in agreement. "I've thought about it, but I don't think it is my place to be the first. George, however, will probably never go in there again." Tears were forming in her eyes and we stood in silence for a moment. Finally, she cleared her throat and we continued on our way.

We did not stop at the third floor, Ginny explaining it only housed a bathroom and a small storage closet. This explained why the house was shaped so oddly, but I still could not understand why or how it was structured the way it was. We also did not stop at the fourth floor, as it was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's master bedroom and Ginny did not want to wake them up. When we reached the fifth floor, we stopped at an old wooden door.

"Ron's room," Ginny said, although it was not necessary. A single sign was on the door, titled _Ronald's Room_. She opened the door and led me inside the dark room. I heard her whisper something and then the lights were on. I should have been scared—I had never actually witnessed magic before, besides my recent travel through the fireplace and the magic wash rag. Yet, the first thought I had after the lights were on was Henry. Atop the bedside table was a picture frame. Inside that frame was a _moving_ picture of my brother with Harry and Ron. I made a beeline for the picture, mesmerized not by my brother, but by the fact that he was _waving_ at me.

"It's moving!" I practically shouted, taking the picture into my hands.

Ginny stifled a giggle. "Um, yeah… didn't you know wizarding pictures do?"

I tried to remember if I had ever seen a wizarding picture before. Henry hardly shared pictures with me from his time at school, and when he had, I certainly did not remember them moving. Then, there were the newspapers, and I had only seen those last week. Those pictures had not been moving either. I shook my head.

"No. Everything Henry ever showed me was just like any other picture. And now that I think about it, I am pretty sure I have seen this picture." I looked at the picture again. Henry had to have been only twelve or thirteen. He had shown this picture to our parents over a Christmas holiday. Their smiles had been wide before, but now, their eyes sparkled too and the laughter was apparent.

"That's odd," Ginny remarked, but did not offer any further explanation. She looked to be as confused as I was. "Anyway, I thought you would be more interested in Ron's room, being this is where Henry stayed all of those summers. I was always so jealous of the friendship my brother shared with yours and Harry. They would stay up here for hours and I would stand outside of the door listening to their jokes and their laughter."

"Henry and I were always very close," I said. "But he was always more popular than myself. Our friends always liked him better, and I remember one time when I was seven and none of the other kids would play with me. Henry had gone off ahead of me, towards the park, and when he realized I wasn't there, he came back for me. If he hadn't included me, I would have never had friends. When he left—I didn't have anyone," I finished sadly.

"That makes a lot of sense. Even though Ron didn't want me around, Henry was the reason I was included in their Quidditch games at least."

"Quidditch?"

"Oh right," Ginny said. "Quidditch is our sport. We play it on brooms."

I nodded, remembering the one time Henry had tried to explain.

Ginny yawned then and said, "Maybe we should get some sleep. Mum usually does breakfast pretty early. Ron is really excited to meet you and I think George has even agreed to come by."

I smiled, and for the first time since I had agreed to come to the Burrow, I felt excited for the next day.

* * *

><p>I awoke the next morning to a knock at Bill's bedroom door. I had slept oddly well for the first time in months. I could not recall having any dreams, and most importantly, I did not have a nightmare about Henry's death. The knocking continued and I got out of the bed to answer it.<p>

"Good morning." It was Ginny. "Sorry to wake you, but I figured you would like to shower and such before the boys arrived."

"Yes, I would," I said, observing her. She had obviously already been awake for quite a while. She was wearing a white and yellow sundress and strappy white sandals. Her long, red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, allowing her freckled face to be clearly seen. She was very pretty and I was momentarily jealous.

"I'll be in the kitchen helping Mum finish breakfast. We'll be eating in an hour."

I thanked her and took my bag of toiletries down the hall. Last night, when I had first used the bathroom at the Weasleys, I was shocked to see it was like any normal bathroom. I did not know what I was looking for, but I felt that _something_ should be different in the wizarding world. I would have never admitted it out loud, but I had searched every corner of the bathroom for almost ten minutes, looking for any difference. When I had not found any, I returned dissatisfied to my room.

I sat my bag down on the counter and turned on the shower. I undressed as I waited for the water to warm up. Using my hand to test it, I stepped in, allowing the water to flow over my body. I washed my hair first, taking my time to work the shampoo into my scalp. I must have stood there too long, however, because the hot water was starting to turn. I started to reach for the knob, but before I could make contact with it, the water warmed up again. _Weird, _I thought, _maybe someone just flushed the toilet on another floor. _It made sense. But, as the water began to get too hot, I again reached for the knob, and it began to turn cold again. After playing this game of cat and mouse for several minutes, I realized that somehow, the shower was _reading my mind_. When I thought the water was too cold, it became hot; when I thought it was too hot, it began to get cold. Doubting myself and wanting to test the theory, I thought about the water being warm and suddenly, the water was just right.

I shook my head, still disbelieving. I finished my shower quickly, not quite sure how I felt about discovering _what_ was different about a shower in the wizarding world. I stepped out of the stall and grabbed a large, white towel. I wrapped it around my body and walked to the mirror. It had not fogged, and I explained that away by telling myself it was because the water had not gotten hot enough to do so. I pulled my hairbrush out of my bag and began to brush my bushy, unruly hair. I thought again of how straight Ginny's hair was and how easily she was able to pull it back. I had always struggled with my hair style and thus always left it down, framing my face a little too much. My mother had tried for years to find a hair care product that would help tame it, but to no avail.

I pulled out my hair dryer and tried to plug it in. I could not find an outlet, however. I had not noticed the lack of electricity in my search the night before. _Great_, I thought,_ now I won't be able to dry my hair properly. _With my hair hanging limply on my shoulders, I brushed my teeth quickly and then reached for my clothes. Except, I had not brought my clothes with me to the bathroom. _Of course not._ My bathroom at home was connected to my room, and therefore, I had never had a reason to bring my clothes with me. Naturally, I had not thought of this fact when I began my shower. Having no other choice, I collected my things and put a protective hand on the towel.

I opened the door slowly and poked my head out into the landing. I did not see anyone around and felt sure I could make it back into my room before anyone could find me. Stepping out of the bathroom, I walked quickly towards Bill's room. However, in my determination, I had failed to realize that someone was, indeed, on the first floor with me. Unfortunately for me, I realized this a little too late. I collided with a loud "oopf" into the chest of the youngest Weasley brother.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note <em>I am not entirely sure how the moving pictures work with nonmagical people. My belief is that if you _don't _believe then you won't see it. This explains why Hermione has never seen a moving picture, because she has never believe nor accepted the magical world. However, now that she is learning about her brother, and opening her mind to magic (whether she wants to acknowledge it or not) she can see the pictures the way they are meant to be seen.


	6. Chapter Five

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_ AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ So, I know I said I would only post one chapter between now and the new year, but I have an extra Christmas present for you, so enjoy!

Thank you for all of those who reviewed and who are reading. I have recently discovered that I can personally reply to my reviews, so I have been trying to keep on top of that. Also, I am still giving a review for a review, but please keep in mind, I only read Harry Potter, and I generally stay with the Harry/Ron/Hermione generation, during and post Hogwarts. So, if I have not reviewed and I should be reading your story, please tell me so. *I am also thinking about providing a sneak peek to Chapter 6 to those who review.

I go back to work on Tuesday, so postings will become a little slower. I still hope to have a chapter posted each weekend. But, please do not hold me to that. I am a teacher, and believe it or not, my job is very demanding and requires a lot of extra work.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

I had never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I was standing in the middle of the hallway, clinging to my towel, Ron Weasley standing right in front of me. He was rubbing the back of his neck nervously, clearly as embarrassed as I was.

"I—I'm sorry," he mumbled, awkwardly.

"No," I whispered, barely audible. "It was my fault." I took a moment to study him. He was standing in much the same way as he had when I first met him. His tall frame was slightly bent at the shoulders and he was staring at his feet. I looked at his face, remembering his long nose and his freckles. I was probably imagining it, but it seemed as if there were more freckles than last year. When he finally did look at me, I saw a slight shine in his eyes and he gave a small smile.

Despite the unfavorable situation I was in, I felt my lips twist into a grin. His smile was infectious and without words, we both began to laugh.

"I think—I think I will just go get dressed now," I said, trying to walk past him. Ron had the same idea however, and we both stepped in front of each other again. Trying to get out of his path, I stepped to the right and he seemingly copied my movements. We dissolved into another fit of laughter before Ron finally stepped to the right again and put his hands out.

"After you," he said, and I walked towards Bill's room. I resisted the urge to turn around and look at his retreating figure and instead slipped into the room, locking the door behind me.

I felt the blush form in my cheeks as I thought of his smile. I had never been attracted to anyone before, not counting a few actors I had fancied growing up. However, Ron did not look anything like those actors. In fact, he was more _normal _than most of the people I had ever met. The boys at school were very into their looks, ensuring they had the best clothes and the newest hair styles. Ron had been wearing a worn pair of jeans and a faded orange t-shirt that clashed with his messy red hair. But, his smile had been enticing, and those blue eyes—with much of the sadness gone and the sparkle noticeable, I felt butterflies begin in my stomach thinking about the way he had shyly looked at me. Shaking my head, I located my clothes and began to get dressed.

I pulled on a simple pair of jeans and a plain, blue blouse. I had not packed, let alone owned, anything as cute as Ginny's sundress. I had never been one for fashion and I rarely went clothes shopping. I hated it above all things, and since leaving behind my school uniform days, I stuck to jeans and plain shirts. I had never had the self-confidence to explore a different wardrobe. Running my hairbrush through my now frizzy hair, I sighed. Without a proper dry, it was wild. Again, I found myself envious of Ginny's hair and tried to smooth down the fly-aways with my hands. Resigned to the fact there was nothing else to do, I found a pair of socks and laced up my trainers.

Butterflies still in my stomach, no longer there because of my awkward encounter with Ron, but because of my continued nerves, I walked to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob, but I did not turn it. I put my mind back on Henry and told myself I was here for him. As nervous and as scared as I was, I was anxious to know more about my twin, anxious to know more about his friends, and more importantly, anxious to know about everything I had missed out on. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and made my way downstairs.

With the sunlight coming in through the many windows the Burrow housed, I was able to get a better look at the frames adorning the staircase's walls. Taking my best guess at the Weasley children's ages, I assumed the wall had not been updated for four or five years. There were several reasons why this could be, but the best seemed because the wall just did not have any more room for pictures. At the top of the staircase was a large frame. The picture was of all seven Weasley children, Harry, and Henry. All of them, sans who I assumed to be Percy—Ginny had mentioned at some point the night before he was the only Weasley child who refused to get on a broom—had a broomstick in their hands and dirt on their clothes and faces. They were all smiling and waving at the camera happily.

I moved down the line, observing as they Weasleys became younger in each photo. I stopped at another picture, this time of two boys, around five or so. They were both smiling widely, both sets of front teeth missing. The gleam in their eyes was identical, as were the rest of their features. I had missed the picture the night before—Fred and George, the twins. Looking at their pictures, I could easily see what so many people missed with twins. And, in the moving picture, it was much more apparent. Fred and George had shared a bond much stronger than perhaps even my own with Henry. They kept looking at each other slyly, conveying something that no one else knew. It was impossible for me to know who was who, but one thing I knew for sure—one was no longer here, and the other was no longer the same.

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When I finally made my way to the kitchen—almost fifteen minutes later—I was surprised to see only Mrs. Weasley and Ginny in the kitchen. I had assumed that in my stalling, I would be late for the meal. Mrs. Weasley spotted me almost immediately. She was setting out the final bits and pieces, the large table already filled with almost every breakfast food imaginable.

"Hermione, dear, good morning," Mrs. Weasley said, ushering me into the room. "How did you sleep? Are you hungry? Would you like some juice?"

"Mum, one question at a time," Ginny laughed. She walked towards the door and opened it, calling, "Harry, Ron, food!" She had barely stepped away from the door when both boys came shuffling in.

Mrs. Weasley addressed me again, "Sorry, dear, I get ahead of myself sometimes. Would you like some juice?"

"Yes, thank you," I said. Then, I watched in amazement as the jug of juice lifted on its own accord and filled a glass. "T—Thank you," I repeated, as the jug rested again in its original spot and I took a seat in front of the filled glass.

"Good morning, Weasleys!" I heard a voice bellow from the stairs as Mr. Weasley arrived.

"Morning, Dad," Ginny and Ron replied.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," I said. Mr. Weasley smiled widely at me and then took his own seat at the head of the table. Ron and Harry took their places across from me, and Ginny slid in next to me.

"Mum, is George still coming?" Ron asked, piling bacon onto his plate.

"He sent an owl this morning. He has to go by the shop first, but he said he would try to come this afternoon."

"Oh." I detected a hint of sadness in Ron's voice.

"We haven't really seen much of George these last few weeks," Ginny whispered. "Ron's taking it pretty hard; ever since Fred's death, Ron has gotten really close to George." I nodded and watched as Mrs. Weasley began to give each of us a plate full of eggs.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, as we all took what we wanted and began to eat. Finally, Mr. Weasley broke the silence.

"So, Hermione," he said, swallowing his eggs. "What can you tell me about these new d-v-players?"

"Do you mean d-v-d?" I asked. When he nodded, I said, "Not much. They are fairly new and still very expensive. I don't own one."

Mr. Weasley's face fell. "Well, no matter. Maybe you can tell me about those cd's instead…"

"Arthur, leave the poor girl alone," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded. "She is not here to be pestered by you. She is here to learn about Henry."

"Oh, yes, Henry. Such a nice lad, he was," Mr. Weasley remarked proudly.

"Thank you, sir," I said, taking a sip of my juice.

We fell into the uncomfortable silence again. I watched as my companions ate their food. Mrs. Weasley was by far the most graceful, eating carefully and deliberately. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, was much sloppier than his wife. He put far too much into his mouth at one time, yet somehow, luckily, he was able to keep his mouth closed as he chewed. Ron had obviously picked up, and enhanced, his father's eating habits. He had piled the most food onto his plate and was putting two to three spoonfuls of eggs into his mouth at a time. Therefore, he struggled to keep his lips together as he ate. I noticed Mrs. Weasley send him many a pointed glare, but it was obvious they were used to his eating habits after all of these years.

Similar to his friend, Harry had plied plenty of food onto his plate, but he was putting less into his mouth at a time. He did eat much faster than Ron did, however. Next to me, Ginny was also eating quickly, but she was much quieter about it as well. Ginny must have noticed I was watching them, because she pushed her plate away from her and said, "So, Hermione, Harry told me he told you about Henry's first year." I nodded in agreement. "I thought maybe I could tell you a little about his second year, which was my first year."

As Ginny began to speak, beginning her story with Harry's untimely arrival at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley began to clear the dishes off the table. I caught her eyes at one point, glassed over with tears. She was very focused on her task at hand, and after a few moments, Ron stood up to join her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and taking a bowl from her quivering hands.

"When we went to Diagon Alley that afternoon," Ginny was saying, as I turned my full attention to her, "I was feeling very envious of the other students I saw shopping around us. I saw mums and dads concerned only with one child, while I was competing against four older brothers. Needless to say, I had been left alone at home for a year after Ron left for Hogwarts, but even as I was embarking on this journey with them, I still felt alone." She said this all very sadly, but I related to her story very well. I was alone when Henry received his letter, I was alone when he left for school, and I was alone even when he came home during holidays.

Ginny sighed and started to talk again, but Mr. Weasley put his hand up. "Maybe you should go out into the garden," he suggested. His eyes shifted to Mrs. Weasley, who was sobbing quietly in Ron's arms now. I was not sure why she was crying, but this memory Ginny was reliving for me obviously had an effect on Mrs. Weasley. Ginny nodded and stood. Harry took her hand and led her out into the garden. I stood as well, making to follow them.

"Ron, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "I'm okay. You go." Ron kissed her cheek and came to my side.

"Sorry," I heard him mutter, as we walked into the garden side by side. I shook my head, trying to convey that he did not have anything to be sorry for.

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We spent the remainder of our morning sitting at a picnic table in the garden. Ginny detailed the majority of her first year at Hogwarts. She had found a diary in her school books when she had arrived home from shopping, and thought her mum had slipped it in as a gift. She had been excited to have somewhere to write about her feelings, and had been even more intrigued when the diary began to _write _back.

"I guess I should have questioned it more," she had said, "but I have grown up with magic all of my life. I thought it was charmed and it appeared to be harmless. The diary sympathized with me. I needed that, and I didn't know anything was wrong until it was too late."

She told me about opening the Chamber of Secrets and releasing the basilisk. As she began to detail how the snake had petrified students at the school, I began to understand why Mrs. Weasley had become so emotional. When Ginny told me she tried to get rid of the diary several times, finally throwing it into the girls' bathroom toilets, Harry took over the story.

"Most of the school thought I was to blame," Harry was saying. "However, Henry, Ron, and I were sure it was Draco Malfoy. Henry, who was less likely to break the rules than Ron or I, decided it would be a good idea to brew some Polyjuice potion."

"Polyjuice potion?" I asked.

"It allows you to temporary turn into someone else," Ron explained.

"But, that's the thing," Harry continued. "You can only use it to take on the form of another person. Henry, well, somehow Henry ended up with Millicent Bulstrode's cat's hair, instead of Blaise Zabini's hair. He ended up in the hospital wing for almost a month afterwards." I tried thinking back to Henry's letters—surely I would have remembered him telling Mum and Dad he had turned into a cat. However, I could not recall him ever mentioning it.

"Once Henry was released, we were all determined to figure out how the basilisk was attacking the students and he was getting around unseen. Henry spent the majority of his time in the library, researching it. The thing that we couldn't understand at first was how everyone was being petrified, because everything we found said you would die when you looked into the eyes of the basilisk. Then, we found out that Henry and Percy's girlfriend at the time were in the hospital wing, petrified. And the antidote that would cure their state would not be ready until the end of the month."

"That same afternoon," Ron started from beside me, "the Ministry decided to remove Dumbledore from the castle. Hagrid, who Harry was led to believe opened the chamber, was sent to Azkaban, the wizarding prison."

"Who's Hagrid?" I asked.

"He is considered the gamekeeper of the grounds," he responded. "He is half-giant, half-human, so he appears to be really big and scary. But, he always was, and continues to be a very trusted friend. Anyway, it turns out Henry had figured out not only how the snake was moving throughout the castle, but he saved his life and Penelope Clearwater's."

"How?" I asked, feeling a surge of proud for my brother's accomplishment.

"The basilisk cannot kill you if you do not look directly into its eyes," Harry said.

"Mrs. Norris, the cat that was petrified first, saw the reflection in the pool of water outside of the girls' bathroom. Colin Creevy looked at it through his camera. Justin Finch-Fletchy saw it through Nearly Headless Nick, but Nick is a ghost and couldn't die again. And then, after Henry figured it out, and came across Penelope, he must have asked if she had a mirror or something. They were looking around the corners before directly going down the corridors."

"Wow," I whispered. I did not know what else add. It was a very intense story. We did not say anything else for a couple of minutes. I was lost in my own thoughts and Harry and Ron were both watching me intently, waiting for me to speak again.

On the other side of the table, Ginny had seemed to compose herself and whispered, "With Dumbledore gone, I was taken into the chamber by Voldemort. To this day, I still don't really understand how it happened. I don't remember anything from that day, other than Harry and Ron getting me out of there."

She sobbed again, and this time, I really understood why Mrs. Weasley had not been able to listen to the story. Ginny was almost killed when she was eleven years old.

"It had been a really scary time for us," Ron said. "Harry and I overheard our professors talking about it, and when I found out Ginny was down there, I didn't know what to do. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was _voted_ to go save Ginny, but that pompous git wasn't worth anything. He didn't even know how to get to the chamber—Harry figured it out. You see, he can speak parseltongue, meaning he can talk to snakes." I gave him a skeptical look, but he continued on. "Lockhart took my wand and said he was going to erase our memories and leave Ginny alone to die. I wanted to kill him. When he tried to perform the spell, it backfired—my wand had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow—and the prat got what he deserved. I stayed with him, listening as he asked ridiculous questions about who he was while Harry went through to the chamber." He forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"It would be the second time I had to defeat Voldemort, and honestly, Hermione, I never would have been able to do it without Henry." He hung his head sadly. "I'm sorry. This became more about us and not about Henry."

I shook my head, disagreeing. "No, I want to hear about you too. In the letters Henry wrote to my parents, he spoke very highly of everyone."

"To your parents?" Ron asked. "Didn't he write to you?"

"No," I said, looking at Harry. "After he left for Hogwarts, we didn't have the best of relationships."

"Oh," Ron replied. "He talked about you all the time. He never told us."

I turned and looked at Ron. He had so much sincerity in his eyes. I gave him a sad smile. "As much anger as I harbored for Henry, I never realized that he still cared. I was jealous and spiteful, and I see now that he tried, he really did. But, I shut him out. I can never forgive myself for that…" I trailed off, never looking away. The tears were welding up in my eyes. I tried to stop them, closing my eyes tightly. I did not want to cry in front of them. I had already cried in front of Harry once, and I really did not want to do it again. But, as I felt Ron's arms wrap around my shoulders, I fell into his chest and allowed the sobs to overcome me.

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As I cried, Ron held me, rocking me back and forth. He did not say anything to me, which I appreciated. I did not necessarily need words to know that he was here for me. I felt so embarrassed. I did not know Ron. Yet, here I was, showing my most venerable side. On the other hand, being in his arms felt so natural, safe. He allowed me to get out everything I needed to.

I do not know how long we stayed like that, but when I finally lifted my head, Harry and Ginny were gone. I suddenly felt awkward, being alone with Ron.

"They went to help Mum tidy up," Ron explained, seeing my confusion.

"Oh." I paused, wondering how I should explain myself. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

He cut me off. "It's not a problem, Hermione. I lost a brother too. I understand more than you can think. Besides George, I was the next closest to Fred. When they started their joke shop, Fred was the one who kept me included." He laughed sadly. "It's funny—George didn't want to share with me, but Fred was insistent. It was almost if he knew—" He stumbled over his words. "It's almost as if he knew he wasn't going to be around." He got a faraway look in his eyes. I sat up straight, studying him. I had seen that look before—when he came with Harry to tell me about Henry. The happiness was gone from his eyes and in that moment, I realized there was much more to Ron than Henry had thought.

While Henry had sometimes described Ron as an arrogant and jealous boy, I could not see these qualities. I saw a sensitive and caring man. It was apparent that he did have more than an "emotional range of a teaspoon," as Parvati had written to Henry in one letter. Someone who did not care would not have held and comforted a stranger as Ron had. Someone who did not care would not speak of their brother with such high regard. It made me wonder what kind of friendship Ron and Henry had.

I swallowed and asked, "Ron, what was Henry really like?"

He looked at me, caught off guard. "Henry was my best friend," he said.

"No, really. I know you were best friends, but through Henry's letters, I know that wasn't always the case."

Ron's cheeks reddened and he nodded, agreeing. "Yeah. It was much easier for me to get along with Harry without Henry, and the same could be said about Henry and Harry. When I met Harry, that first day on the train, naturally I was jealous and in awe. He was _the_ Harry Potter, after all. And he was befriending _me_, poor Ron Weasley. Then, Henry came in and boy, was he a show off. Apparently, he knew all about Harry, too, and he was in as much awe as I was, trying to impress Harry."

I giggled. "Learning about Harry was one of the last good memories I have with Henry," I shared. Ron looked at me quizzically, and I continued. "We began drifting apart almost immediately after he was told he was different. I was envious and angry, and refused to believe anything. But, shortly after Henry went with our parents to get his supplies, he came home with this history book. History is always something I have been interested in, and regardless of the fact it was _magical_ history, I was intrigued. Henry and I spent most of the night reading, especially the small section on Harry Potter. It didn't tell us much, except it was very clear Harry was someone to know, and when Henry found out he was our age, he was determined to meet him."

"Along with the rest of the wizarding world," Ron added. "Anyway, my friendship with Henry was very slow going. I think Harry told you a little about our first year last weekend?" I nodded. "He knew so much—much more than I could ever imagine knowing—and he was sometimes really pompous about it. I _hated_ when he could do something I couldn't. So, not only was I jealous of Harry's fame, I was jealous of the things Henry could do, the things he knew. But, we both were Harry's best friends, and therefore, we were stuck with each other. It wasn't until our fourth year or so, when I started to realize he was a really valuable friend and he didn't _always_ show off on purpose. He was smart, and sometimes you just can't help that." He smiled, but the sadness was still there.

I returned the smile, glad that Ron had shared with me. "Maybe we should go back inside?" I suggested, after a minute of silence.

"Yeah, might be a good idea." I started to stand but Ron added, "Hermione?"

I stopped, looking down at his still seated figure. "Yes, Ron?"

"Do you think, maybe, you'd like to go and get a butterbeer with me after dinner?" He said this all very quickly, nervously. When I did not immediately respond he said, hesitatingly, "We can talk about Henry."

I thought about it for a moment. Was he asking me on a date? I was not sure, but as we both stood there, a heavy silence hanging over us, I said, "I would like that."

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_Author's Note_: I really hope I am sticking as close to character as possible. I think Ron and Hermione are moving at a good pace. No, they do know each other, but at nineteen years old, you don't need to know each other to go on a date. And besides, they are destined to be together, so I think it's okay for me to push them along a little. Let me know what you think. Next chapter will have a bit with George and Ron and Hermione's "date." Also, leave me a comment about your New Year's resolution! I need more ideas since I accomplished a lot on 2011 (I graduated college, I got married, I started my career). I think 2012 I will focus on getting in shape! As always: Happy reading and enjoy your last day of 2011! See you in 2012!


	7. Chapter Six

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ Thank you for those of you who read and reviewed the last chapter. I am sorry I did not send a sneak peek to those of you who reviewed. My first week back at work was more intense than I had anticipated and I spent every night doing stuff for my students. Therefore, I devoted my entire weekend to writing this chapter so I could get it to you this evening. I hope it does not disappoint.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

**CHAPTER SIX**

LATER that afternoon, I again found myself looking at the pictures along the staircase wall. After I had agreed to go into town with Ron after dinner, we had returned to the kitchen where Harry and Ginny were finishing the kitchen clean-up for Mrs. Weasley. At the persistence of her husband, she had gone upstairs to lay down for a bit. As it had been nearing one o'clock, and as Ron was "famished," as he had put it, Ginny had made some ham sandwiches and tea. We took up spot at the table in the same fashion as we had outside and the three of them began the tale of Henry's third year at Hogwarts.

They had told me that was the year life was supposed to get a little better for Harry. They had discovered Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and alleged traitor, was innocent after all. Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, was really an animagus—which I was having trouble wrapping my head around—and was the once trusted friend of Harry's parents, Peter Pettigrew. Additionally, I learned that Henry had not lost his love of knowledge the he had shared with me and in fact, had built upon it. Doing something I would have expected of myself and not him, Henry piled on every class available to his schedule. He was given something called a Time Turner—again, my head was spinning—and unbeknownst to his friends, was traveling back in time to do all of his classes. Because of this Time Turner, Henry played a big role in saving Sirius Black's life.

When Harry, Ron, and Ginny had finished depicting their story two hours later—this one, by far, was the most detailed and I felt I missed a lot of what they had said—Ginny headed upstairs to check on her mum. I was feeling a little overwhelmed myself, and had suggested that I wanted to go lay down before dinner. Harry and Ron exchanged worried glances they thought I had neglected to notice. I did not know what they thought I would do, but they allowed me to go. Which is how I found myself face to face with another picture.

This one was of only the Weasley family. I was not sure where they were, but it looked like they were on holiday. I found Ron almost immediately and noticed he was holding a rat securely in his hands. _That must be Peter Pettigrew,_ I thought, and knew that this had to be taken before he was thirteen. Ginny looked incredibly pale and forlorn, so I guessed it had been taken after her terrifying first year at school. I found the twins again, grinning goofily. I smiled to myself, as their smiles were infectious, and instead of heading down the hallway to my room, I continued up to the second landing in search of more pictures.

I expected to find pictures from Ron and Ginny's later teenage years, as they seemed to be missing from the first wall, but I found more baby pictures. In most, it was hard to distinguish which Weasley child was which, sans Ginny and the twins. Their bright red hair and freckles were identical in every picture, and if the twins had been pictured separately, they would have blended in with the rest. Even Ginny, the only girl of the family, shared the same face as her brothers when she was an infant. Her dresses and hair bows were the only thing that set her apart.

I had not been on the second landing for very long when I thought I heard a voice. I turned towards the stairs, expecting to see Harry or Ron. Neither was there. I looked around the hallway, the hair standing up on the back of my neck when I heard it again. It was definitely a voice. Then, my eyes fell on the door to Fred and George's old room. It had been closed when Ginny had given me a tour of the house. Now, however, the door was cracked slightly, the sunlight spilling into the hallway. I hesitated for a moment—Harry and Ron were still downstairs. I was not sure where Mr. Weasley was, but the voice I heard was very unlike Mr. Weasley's. Taking a breath, I began to walk slowly and quietly to the door.

When I reached the door, I peered into the room and was surprised to see a red-headed man sitting on one of the beds, staring at the other. He had his head down and now that I was closer, I could hear his quiet sobs. _George_, I thought. "_George, however, will probably never go in there again,"_ Ginny had told me. At the time, I had wanted to tell her that she was wrong. I thought I would never go into Henry's room again, but it had proved to be very healing. George, too, must have found that same comfort in his old room, but had chosen not to share it with his family. I suddenly felt very intrusive, and I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment. I began to turn to leave when I heard him.

"Fred," he was saying, "it is getting hard again. Every time I think I am getting on all right, I realize you really aren't coming back. This really isn't fair you know. I am _not_ a big emotional git, yet here I am sitting in our room crying. Over _you,_ of all people." He forced a laugh. "I'm sure you're up there, having a good laugh at my expense. You must think you're _hysterical._" I watched as his brought his hands to his head, sighing.

"I never really thought life would be this way," he continued. "I was so sure, after the bloody war, the shop would really take off. We would really be living it up then, wouldn't we, Fred? The money, the girls, the—no, those were the two most important—would have been flooding in. Time of our lives, we woulda had. 'Cept now, funnily enough, none of that matters anymore. Not the money, not the parties, nothing.

"Ron, poor Ron has tried so hard. I want to tell him to sod off, but really, I don't know what I would do without that annoying bugger. Dunno why you had to go on and include him. Thank you, though, for that. Shop would be in ruins if our little brother hadn't taken over. Guess you knew that though. Knew I—we—needed him. He's not so annoying anymore. Don't tell him I said it, but I quite respect him." George's shoulders relaxed, as if a huge weight had been lifted, as if he had never acknowledged these thoughts before.

I knew I should not be listening into this private moment George was having. If anyone had witnessed me reading through Henry's letters, randomly talking to him as I commented on different things, I would have felt violated. It was not acceptable for me to impose my presence on someone else. As I turned to leave the floorboards creaked underneath my weight and I stopped quickly, hoping George had not heard me.

"Hello?"

I swallowed. Maybe he had not seen me and I could run quickly, avoiding what would be a very awkward meeting. I took too long to decide however, as I heard the hinges on the door squeak as George opened the door wider. I turned sheepishly, not meeting his eyes.

"Who are you?" George asked. He sounded hurt and angry.

"Hermione," I whispered. "Hermione Granger."

"Granger?" I took a chance and looked at him, finding a quizzical frown on his lips. "Oh. Oh, right. You're Henry's twin." I nodded. We stood in silence, something I was becoming accustomed to since I had contacted Harry. Finally, I addressed him.

"I understand how you feel," I told him. I stared at him, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. When he finally did, I could see the tears filling them. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to extend comfort I had always yearned for but never admitted I needed. A tear went down his cheek and as he allowed himself to cry in front of me, I lead him back into the room. We both sat down and I did the one thing I knew, the thing I had only just learned. I had not realized how much I needed someone to just hold me while I mourned until Ron had given me that security this morning. Wordlessly, I allowed George to fall into my arms, his head resting on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he sobbed into my shirt. We had never met before and knew nothing of each other, but in that moment, we understood each other's pain better than anyone else ever could.

* * *

><p>I never returned to my room for a nap. George and I stayed together in his room. I told him about Henry, the brother I had known before he left for Hogwarts. I told him that I felt like I part of me had died when Henry had left for school, and that an even larger part was gone when he died. I told him my biggest fear was never being <em>myself <em>again, because I did not know myself without Henry. In turn, he told me about Fred. He shared a childhood full of pranks, laughter, and constantly being in trouble with their mum. They had dreamed of having their own joke shop since they were six years old. This desire had inspired all of their greatest products. George said their proudest moment was when they left Hogwarts (not without a bang, of course) and opened up their first shop. He told me with Fred gone, he had not developed a new product and although the shop was still surviving with Ron's help, he knew the public wanted new jokes, new pranks. Like me, he did not feel like himself without his other half.

"Thank you," he whispered, as the sun began to set outside his window.

"For what?" I asked.

He thought for a moment. "I—I am not really sure. I've tried talking to Ron, to my brother Charlie. Ginny has searched me out countless times, and I know she even convinced Harry to try. I know that they are hurting too. He was—is their brother too. But—" He stopped.

"It's different," I supplied quietly.

He gave me a weak smile. "Yeah."

"Thank you for talking to me," I said. I was glad I was able to help him. He had helped me too, though. It was comforting talking to another person that was experiencing the same feelings I was. He was right. Although his other siblings had lost their brother, and naturally, the bond between siblings is strong, but the bond between twins is even stronger. The hole left in our hearts was identical and George and I shared something he unfortunately could not share with his other siblings. "I know it is not hard to let others in," I added, sincerely grateful that for whatever reason he had trusted me.

"You know, I come in here a lot," George revealed. I looked at him and nodded.

"Ginny doesn't think you ever will."

"I know. None of them do. None of them will come in here either. When I first started coming in here, it was hard. I would just sit on my bed and stare at the walls in silence. I felt really stupid, too. I'm sure Fred is laughing at me wherever he is. We were never very sentimental, you see. Always the jokesters, never the emotional types. Mum has always been emotional enough for all of us."

I smiled. "How long did it take you? To come in here?"

"A while. A couple of months."

"Wow."

"What?" George asked.

"That's amazing. It took me almost a year."

We feel into silence again, both of us sitting side by side, looking out of the window. I was not exactly sure how to end our time together. And I was not exactly sure I wanted someone to catch us either. I was not ashamed of our conversation, and I knew George was not either. But, he had opened up to me in a way he had not with his family. I did not want one of the Weasleys to become upset with me for any reason and I certainly did not want to hurt their feelings because George had confided in me.

Just as I was about to say something to George about maybe heading downstairs, we heard Ron and Harry's voice coming from the stairs. George put a finger up to his lips. The bedroom door was still opened slightly, and I knew they would not be able to see the cracked door from the landing. But, if we made noise they were sure to discover us.

"I—I uh, asked Hermione out for a drink tonight," Ron was saying. There was no audible response from Harry, but Ron's voice continued to carry. "It's funny, she's a lot like Henry, but I like her more." Two sets of laughter reached our ears and I felt the blush in my cheeks. George gave me a goofy grin.

When we did not hear their voices or steps anymore, George said, "Ron, eh?" I nodded, sheepishly. "He's a good kid, he is. He can be a bit awkward though, so don't be too hard on him if he says something stupid." He laughed then, but it was not a forced laugh like the ones before when he was recalling memories of Fred. It was deep, genuine, and it reached his eyes. I smiled in response, my cheeks still burning.

* * *

><p>After hearing Ron and Harry on the stairs, I had ventured back to my room first, to freshen up for dinner. I desperately wanted to change into something nicer, especially since I had a <em>date<em> afterwards. I had never actually been on a date before. I had only had one boyfriend, my last year of school. We had only been seeing each other for a couple of months when I found out about Henry. Our time together was spent mostly at school, during our lunch, and weekend outings to the movies or shops with our friends. We had hardly been alone together, and when we had, it was spent stealing awkward kisses. We had never really discussed the idea of a date alone, and I did not attempt to keep the relationship going after Henry died. I could not explain to him my pain, and it was easier to push him away and out of my life than attempt to make something work that was not there in the first place.

I stood in front of the full length mirror on the back of Bill's door, studying my appearance. The jeans I had put on that morning looked older than I had remembered. They were faded and frayed at the bottoms, and I had not noticed there was a small rip in the fabric on my right knee. My blue shirt was nothing spectacular. It was definitely "out of style," as I had purchased it several summers ago. Although Ron was nothing like the boys at home, and something told me he would not notice either way, I still wanted to look nice—at least nicer than I did now.

Settling on the fact that I had nothing better, I ran my hair brush through my hair a few more times. As the day had worn on it had become unmanageable. As I worked through the tangles I contemplated telling Ron I could not go. I could tell him I was not feeling well or something. But, then I remembered what I had overhead him telling Harry. He liked me. I was broken and incomplete, an emotional wreck. Yet, he liked _me_. He liked me enough to ask me out on a date and I could not back out just because I was downing myself. I sighed and decided I was not going to start worrying about my looks now. Throwing the hair brush on top of my bag, I headed down to the kitchen for dinner.

When I stepped off of the stairs, I was shocked to see George sitting at the table. I had assumed that because of his quiet entrance, he would have left unnoticed as well. Ron was seated next to his brother, with Harry across from them.

"Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said as soon as she spotted me. "I was just about to send Ginny up to get you. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Nap?" I asked, momentarily confused. I composed myself quickly however, when my eyes met George's and I remembered that while I was talking to him the rest of the family thought I was laying down. "Oh, yes. Just the refresher I needed."

"Very understandable," Mr. Weasley replied as he entered the room. "Information overload." I nodded.

"Hermione, this is George," Mrs. Weasley introduced, gesturing to him. George stood and extended his hand across the table. I took it, shaking his hand as my eyes found his again. They conveyed a message of thanks. He thought as I did. It was better if we kept our first meeting a secret.

"Very nice to meet you, Hermione," he said politely.

"Likewise," I said, giving him a smile to let him know he was very welcome.

"All right," Mrs. Weasley said, sitting down opposite her husband. "Dinner is served."

Dinner conversation was kept light considering the conversation we had this morning. Mr. Weasley asked me about several different objects, much to the chagrin of his children. Mrs. Weasley tried to steer the conversation away from her husband's "fascination with all things muggle" and asked me about my school and what I had been doing since.

"Well, actually," I admitted sadly, "I haven't really done much of anything. I've been waitressing to pass the time, but I haven't felt like doing anything with a purpose since Henry—" I stopped, not really wanting to continue. Luckily, Ginny sensed my discomfort immediately and changed the topic.

I found out that she had a desire to be a Quidditch player, despite her mother's protests. Mr. Weasley seemed very proud of his daughter's decision to follow her passion, and while I could see Mrs. Weasley tried to express this same emotion, she brought up Ginny's other interests—"I thought you always dreamed of being a Healer?"—several times throughout the conversation. Harry and Ron were both recruited into the Auror program after they had defeated Voldemort. I learned the Aurors were kind of like soldiers, and it could be quite dangerous. The training was very extensive and involved, but they both only had three months left until completion. In the meantime, they were both—Ron more than Harry—working in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop, part time.

George hardly spoke, and I could immediately understand why his family was so worried about him. He was still very much broken, but even though they did not know it, he was doing everything he could to heal as well.

When dinner was finished, Mrs. Weasley suggested we all go out into the garden. "Actually, Mum," Ron started in a whisper. "Hermione and I were going to go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer." I chanced a look at him and saw his cheeks turning pink.

Mrs. Weasley looked at Ron, then to me, and back to Ron again. "Oh." She did not seem to know how to react. "Well, that is lovely, dear." She smiled at Ron and then at me. Her eyes were wide with happiness and I felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. "You two have a very nice time."

I nodded and as we all begin to stand, Ginny grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the stairs. I saw Ron looking panicked for a moment and he begin to call out, but Harry put his hand on his shoulder. I was extremely nervous for what was about to happen. When we reached her room Ginny exclaimed, "I knew you were smart, Hermione, but jeez, are you crazy too?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, giving her a questioning glare.

"Going out with Ron." She laughed. "I'm sorry. I am just shocked he asked you is all. Actually, I am slightly more shocked you agreed."

I blushed. Why had I agreed? I did not know him, and certainly did not have experience with dating, but I had been quick to accept Ron's invitation.

"I like him," I admitted simply after a minute. With this admission, I knew it was true. Ron was like no one I had ever met in my life. He was _normal_ in my world of strange. He was not _hot _or _sexy _or any of the other adjectives girls my age used to describe men. However, this was not to say he was not good looking. He was very attractive in his own right. He was not necessarily the first pick of others, but his freckles appealed to me and I had never realized how good looking men with red hair were.

Ginny laughed again, but it was not cruel or condescending. Then she joked, "Well I am glad somebody does! Having him tag along with Harry and I has gotten kind of old." As she finished her thought, she began digging through her closet.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Well, you're not planning on wearing _that_ are you?"

I looked down at my outfit again, remembering my previous debate with myself. "I—I thought it was okay. We're only going to a pub, aren't we?"

"Well, yes, but—" She stopped, pulling a pair of dark wash jeans from her closet and tossing them to me. "Just want to fancy it up a bit." I did not move, holding the jeans in my hand and looking at her in disbelief. "Go on," she pushed. "Put them on."

All ready knowing that Ginny was not someone I should ever pick an argument with, I silently began to change.

"Much better," she complimented, and handed me a shirt. It was a long black and white stripped top with a scoop neck. It was simple, yet it was much classier than my blue one.

"You're a little more—endowed than me, but it should still fit perfectly. If not, I know a spell that will alter it for you." I pulled my shirt off and pulled Ginny's over my head. It was a bit snug over my breasts, and I started to protest but she looked at me and smiled. "You look great!" She turned me around to face her vanity.

I had to admit, the simple clothes change did matter. At first, I thought I would not like Ginny's selection. But, I was surprised at how well the clothes did fit and while they did hug the few curves I did have, it was not distasteful.

"Now, to do something about your hair."

"What's wrong with—" I started to ask, but she was right. My hair was extremely frizzy and if I had been able to fix it myself, I would have.

"Hold still," she instructed. "This won't hurt a bit."

She pulled out her wand and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. What was she going to do? I heard her mutter something under her breath and a moment later, my hair, although still bushy with curls, was slightly more tamed. The frizz had not entirely ceased, but it was a vast improvement. My hair was no longer trying to swallow my head.

"The spell isn't perfect—we have potions that would work much better, but we do not have time for those. Anyways, I wasn't trying to offend you or anything, but it needed something."

"No," I said, "thank you. I really appreciate this."

"It's not a problem," she said, motioning leading me to the door. "Now, go. Have a good time."

She opened the door for me and followed me as I reentered the kitchen. Ron and Harry had not left, instead choosing to sit back down and wait. When they heard us coming down the stairs, Ron had stood and his eyes immediately fell on me.

"Wow," he muttered. "Hermione, you look—beautiful." Our blushes were identical as he held out his hand. I walked to him and placed my own into his. "Well, we'll be off," he said to Harry and Ginny, waving awkwardly. He led me out into the garden.

"I thought we could apparate to the Three Broomsticks," he said. I looked at him quizzically. "Basically, you're here one minute, and there the next." I still did not fully understand. "It's a bit uncomfortable and in fact, you might not want to…" he trailed off. "What was I thinking? Should have considered what you would be most comfortable with. Merlin, I've already managed to muck things up." I put my free hand on his arm, trying to stop his rambling.

"It's okay, really. I don't mind. I trust you." I gave him a sly smile and it seemed to relax him a bit.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He began to compose his nerves. "We have to walk out a little bit. Even though Voldemort is gone, we still have protective wards around the house." I nodded, trying to pretend I knew exactly what he was talking about.

As we strolled out of the garden, hand in hand, I realized how good I felt. It was nice, being with Ron. I was not sure what the night would hold for us, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. In that moment, I felt as if I had a chance at becoming whole once more.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>: I hope you enjoyed. Trying to keep the characters canon has been kind of difficult since this is AU, but I am doing my best. I will not be going into major details about the rest of their Hogwarts years, as I assume we have all read the books and know what happened. Basically, Henry did everything Hermione did. Anything that has to be majorly changed will be outlined, but I do not think anything really does. And if any of the recollections seem choppy, it's because it's been _years_ since I have read the series (unfortunately) and I do not remember every detail. Besides, it is a lot to learn, so obviously, Hermione will not remember everything they tell her.

**Please** review! I hope I can get an update out every weekend, but I promise I will never go more than two weeks without updating. However, you can always check out my profile page for updates if things are delayed.


	8. Chapter Seven

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER SEVEN<strong>

APPARATION was extremely unsettling. I felt as if I was being pulled in a hundred different directions and my stomach lurched. However, as Ron had said, it was over as quickly as it began. When I felt my feet firmly on the ground, I looked around me. We had appeared on an alleyway, between two large brick buildings without windows. A sense of panic came over me and when I felt Ron's hand rest on my arm, I jumped slightly. He let out a chuckle.

"We can't apparate right into the village," he said, as if I should have known that. I nodded anyway and he searched out my hand, taking it into his own.

We began to walk in the direction of what I could only assume was the village, but I could not see anything but the trees ahead of us. Therefore, I was extremely confused when I began to notice quaint little cottages lining either side of the pathway. I must have gasped, because Ron addressed me again.

"It remains hidden to the untrained eye," he stated. "That way, muggles can't waltz right in here. Rumor has it Hogsmeade was founded a thousand or so years ago by some bloke who was escaping persecution." I nodded again, looking around at all of the homes. Most of the homes seemed to be uninhabitable, but several others had well-kept flowerbeds in the front lawn and one even had a swing hanging from a large tree. "Unfortunately, the Three Broomsticks is on the other end of the village, so we have a little bit of a walk."

"That's okay," I muttered, as the cottages began to become scarcer and I could see larger buildings ahead of us.

"That's Dervish and Banges," Ron explained, pointing to a building on the left. "Basically it's a repair shop and a place to get magical equipment. In all honesty, I haven't been in many of these shops at all. Especially since we left Hogwarts." As we came closer, I could see candles floating in trees and along the buildings. I became fixated on the candles, mesmerized. "The candles as usually only here at Christmas time," Ron whispered into my ear. "But, because of the war…" He trailed off. "I guess—I guess it's a way to honor the lives that were lost."

He looked away quickly, but I was still able to see the tears welding in his eyes. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said, pointing to the building across the walk, "that's the quill shop—Henry went in there once to get some special quill or something. Again, another one that I've never been in myself. The clothing shop is right next to it. And—" He stopped in front of another building with boarded up windows. It seemed out of place compared to the small part of the village I had already seen. His eyes were still glassy as he began to speak.

"This, uh, used to be Zonko's Joke Shop. It was the favorite of Hogwarts' students for years. It was the only joke shop—until… Anyway, it's been boarded up for almost three years, when Voldemort first came back into power. A lot of the shops in the wizarding world met the same fate. Shop owners were too scared to stay open. Expect for—" His voice trailed again and I followed his eyes. They had landed on a small sign hanging from the front door. _Future Home of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. _"F-Fred and George bought the building two months before the final battle. They never told any of us, because frankly, there were more important things to worry about. Regardless, they were determined to open up a second shop once V-Voldemort was gone. I sometimes think George has forgotten they—he owns it. There was an owl from the village last month. I didn't read it, and neither did he, but I am pretty sure they want to know what's going to become of it. Kind of an eyesore now that everyone else is back up and running."

"Well, why don't you talk to him about it?" I inquired.

Ron shook his head. "I don't want to push him. And I'm going to be leaving soon. I'm not quite sure he can handle it. I mean, he's been getting along and all, but I don't know how long it will last."

"He's stronger than you think," I told him, squeezing his hand. "Sometimes, a little push is all someone needs."

"Yeah," he mumbled, still staring at the sign.

"You told me to trust you, right?" I asked. He nodded. "Then trust me. He needs you more than he will ever let on. And I don't mean he needs you there to help him every day. He needs someone to believe in him." He looked at me, searching my face. Regardless of my conversation with George this afternoon, my words were not affected by our meeting, but through my own experience. No one was there to push me and help me along, and I truly believe that if someone had been there, by my side, I could have healed faster. I also believed that opening this second shop, which had been part Fred and George's dream, would help George in his final steps of healing.

* * *

><p>We walked the rest of the way to the Three Broomsticks hand and hand. I certainly had not expected this—whatever <em>this <em>was—when I had arrived at the Burrow the night before. My only thoughts in coming here were on Henry, and learning about his life. But, being around Ron was— well, it was comforting, it was nice, and somehow it felt _right_. I was not really sure what right felt like, per say, but I was not sure how else to describe my feelings at that point. Although we did not know each other very much at all, Ron made me feel at ease. I knew I had never felt this way before, especially not when I was with my ex-boyfriend.

As we walked, Ron continued to point out the different shops. We stopped outside of Honeydukes, the sweet shop. There were magical displays of the variety of sweets in the windows. Ron detailed all of his favorites, and the many others, you could find inside. While chocolate frogs sounded delicious, if not difficult to eat, the Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans were one candy I decided I would want to stay away from. The chances of having an undesirable flavor outweighed the chances of having a flavor that tasted sweet. Ron told me that Henry had loved Bertie Bott's, and he had been the most adventurous when it came to trying the odd looking ones.

"It always made for an easy gift when it came to Henry. He always had a package with him," he shared.

Once we approached the Three Broomsticks, Ron stopped and pointed up a pathway. It led to a shack-like house at the top of a small hill. "That's the Shrieking Shack," he said. I remembered our conversation from this afternoon that had detailed the boys third year at school. Ron had been taken by Sirius Black, in the form of his animagus, through a secret tunnel that led from Hogwarts. Harry and Henry had followed, and it was in that Shack they had discovered the truth of Peter Pettigrew. It was because of the events that had happened there that the need for Henry's Time Turner had been necessary.

"Obviously," Ron explained. "It's not haunted. It had been Lupin who created all the noises when he was in school, and when he left, the rumors kind of stopped. When he came back to teach and had to use the shack again, the locals around here are now convinced, even though nothing has been heard for years again. However, I know it is still a big attraction for third year students. Ginny told me the seventh years had a lot of fun scaring the pants off of several of the younger students this year." He laughed. "Let's have a drink, shall we?"

He led me to the door of the pub, and in a very gentleman-like fashion, opened the door for me. "After you," I said with a toothy grin.

"Thank you," I said.

The pub was not how I had pictured. It was very well lit, and felt warm and homey. It was crowded, but not overly so. There were a plentiful amount of tables and chairs all around the room, and the bar ran the length of a side wall. The chatter of many different conversations filled my ears as Ron took me to an empty table towards the back. As we walked, I heard several people call out to Ron. He gave me a sheepish look.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I used to think it was so cool—all of the public recognition Harry would get when we were younger. He was a household name. But, it's hard. I always thought I would love being in the spotlight, but I wish I could just go out without having everyone trying to talk to me."

I gave him a small smile and sat in the chair he had pulled out for me. He was stumbling over himself, and I had a fleeting thought that this behavior was not a normal part of his personality. I wanted to tell him that it was fine, he did not have to go out of his way for me, but I did not want to make the situation more awkward than I knew it already was.

As we both sat, a woman appeared with a floating quill and notepad. She was older than much of the crowd, but was much prettier than any of the girls. "Good evening, Mr. Weasley," she greeted.

Ron blushed. "Madam Rosmerta, please."

She laughed and said, "What can I get for you and your lovely friend here?" I noticed the blush had now reached Ron's ears.

She gave me a warm, knowing smile as Ron replied, "Two butterbeers."

"Absolutely," she said as she headed toward the bar, the floating quill busy writing in the notepad.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that," Ron muttered. "She's known me since Hogwarts, and it's a bit weird for her to call me Mr. Weasley. In fact, she didn't use to be so perky. She was put under a curse by the death eaters during our sixth year, and I think now she's a little too happy."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Madam Rosmerta was back with our drinks. "Let me know if you need anything," she said, winking, and then headed away again.

We sat in silence for a moment, not moving or touching our glasses. He was staring at his hands, lost in thought.

"Ron?" I finally asked.

"Yeah?" He looked up, meeting my eyes.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Just remembering one time when we were here. Must have been our fourth year, or maybe it was our third. I don't really remember. But, Henry had been taking the mickey out of me for having a _crush_ on Madam Rosemerta." He shook his head. "He wouldn't let it go for so long. It was his running joke. Fact was I was jealous because he was always so good with the girls. Blimey, I wasn't _brave_ enough to fancy any of the girls at school. They were too busy fawning over Henry and Harry to notice another Weasley. Besides, Fred and George were blessed with the good looks, so even without my best friends drawing all of the attention my own brothers would have taken it from me."

He stopped quickly, realizing he was rambling on. He reached for his glass and held it up. "Cheers, eh?" he said, and I smiled slightly, clinking my glass to his.

The butterbeer was shockingly refreshing. I had expected a bitter taste, given its name, but it tasted like butterscotch and cream soda. I took another sip before setting it down again. I noticed Ron watching me intently, studying my face. I blushed under his scrutiny, which drew his attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled. I shook my head, indicting I did not mind. "So, I, uh, know I said we would talk about Henry, but, uh, I was wondering about Hermione." He said all of this very nervously.

"What about Hermione?" I questioned, the words catching in my throat.

Ron opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out. I stared at him, waiting, scared of what he might say. He closed his mouth and opened it again several more times before finally sighing.

"Okay, how about we start with Ron first?" He chuckled when I shrugged my shoulders. He was rubbing his hands together and I felt the dampness on my palms when I subconsciously began to rub my own. The _right_ I had been feeling earlier in the evening was starting to mix with unknown confusion. Ron reached for his butterbeer and took a big gulp.

"Where should I start?" he asked, rhetorically. "You already know I come from a large family. I've already told you that I was envious of Harry and Henry for most of my Hogwarts years, but my jealously began at a much younger age. I had five older brothers, after all, and they were all bloody brilliant at _something_—always had been. Anything that I could do, they had already done, and they had always done it better. When Ginny came along, I was still only a baby myself, but when I was old enough to realize I wasn't the youngest anymore, I thought that finally, I would be better at something than someone else.

"That wasn't true either, because naturally, Ginny had to be a girl and not a boy." I laughed and he met my smile. "While I never had anything new with plenty of hand-me-down items to last me my entire childhood, everything Ginny owned had never been worn or used before. I can still remember the day I realized I hated her. It was her fourth birthday, and she was being showered with new toys and clothes. Up until that point, I hadn't realized I was wearing Percy's shoes, wearing Fred and George's clothes, and playing with Bill and Charlie's old toys. But, as I saw various family members comment on her new outfits, I realized they had never done that with me because it was stuff they had already seen before.

"I'm not resentful of my parents anymore, and obviously, I love Ginny more than anything on this Earth. You don't really appreciate things when you are a kid, but I know my parents provided me with everything I really needed and I was never really lacking."

I could not imagine how Ron must have felt, as I was basically an only child most of my life, and even before Henry went to Hogwarts, I was a girl, and could not share my clothes with my brother.

"Because of my envious childhood, it was easy to fall into the same thought process when I met Harry and Henry. After all, I had grown up listening to stories about Harry and even though he was always in danger, I longed to be him. I thought his life had to be better than my own." He paused. "Funny how I never realized he wanted my life as much as I wanted his. And then, Henry, I was jealous of him for all of the obvious reasons.

"Basically, Hermione, what I am getting at is, I have always lived my life in the shadows. I was always so focused on what I didn't have instead of what I did have. Because of that, I am awful with feelings and words. In fact, I feel extremely awkward about admitting what I am about to say to you." He stopped again and I leaned closer to him. The tension between us had definitely increased.

"Henry did talk about you a lot. And although I never actually knew you, I wanted to meet you. The way he talked about you assured me you were not like the girls at Hogwarts. I never wanted anything to do with them. They lacked so much substance, and although I don't think I actually knew any of this when I was sixteen, something pulled me towards his stories of you. And this morning—this morning just put everything into perspective. I've never really be too sure of what I have wanted in life, or what I knew, because I always tried to follow someone else's steps."

He's breathing was hitched now and I felt sure he was going to stop. I reached out to grab his hand, and heat rushed through my fingers. "I like you, Hermione," he said after a moment, looking straight into my eyes. "I like you a lot and I want to know everything about _you_."

We sat like this for several moments, his hand in mine, our eyes locked together. I knew he was waiting for me to respond, but I was dumbstruck. He had just shared a very intimate part of himself with me, and although I had already known he liked me, and had admitted to Ginny I liked him too, I could not form the words together to share with him. I swallowed, weighing my options.

And then, forgetting that we were in the middle of a crowded pub, I leaned in closer until my lips met his. He did not immediately react, perhaps to stunned to move. I almost pulled away from embarrassment at my impulsiveness. But, as I felt his lips move against mine and his hand squeeze tightly around my fingers, I relaxed. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before Ron pulled away, his cheeks red. He adverted my eyes at first, and I wondered for a moment if my kissing skills were just that horrible. I began to turn away, trying to figure out how to make my way back to the Burrow on my own, when Ron broke out into a large, goofy grin.

"Wow," he breathed. "I, uh, I guess that means you like me too?"

* * *

><p>After our brief kiss, Ron and I were able to fall into relaxation once more. We quickly finished our first round of butterbeers and Madam Rosmerta was quick to bring us two more. As we held hands across the table like to love-struck teenagers—which perhaps we were—I granted him his wish with the story of Hermione. I told him all about my childhood with a twin brother, and how close we were. He laughed at the stories of our own small pranks on our mother, commenting that jokesters must come in pairs. I detailed for him my feelings when I found out Henry was a wizard and I was not special at all. I told him how hard it had been for me the first year Henry was gone away at school, and how much I regretted how easily the hatred followed in the subsequent years.<p>

With Ron sitting beside me, I relived the day that he and Harry had come to tell me about Henry's death and how I had hated the two of them for fathoming such a lie. I told him of how I had become a shell of my former self—which was not much to begin with—in the past year. He listened intently as I struggled with the words and tenderly wiped a tear that fell down my cheek. When I was finished, he stood up and took me into his arms again. I only sobbed briefly before pulling away.

"Ron," I said softly.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"How did Henry die?"

Ron sucked in a breath. He obviously had not been expecting this question, and I was actually shocked I had asked it. I had never actually thought about the _how_ surrounding Henry's death, but as soon as the thought came to me, I blurted it out.

"We think he was hit with the killing curse," Ron said quietly. "We're not completely sure," he added sadly. He pulled his chair over to mine and sat down again. "Harry was off trying to find Voldemort, and Henry and I were tasked with killing Voldemort's snake, Nagini. We were separated at one point. There was so much going on between the fighting students, the Death Eaters, the explosions." He was beginning to choke up, and I interrupted him.

"You don't have to…" I trailed off.

Ron shook his head. "No. It's okay. I was too busy looking for that damn snake to realize that Henry had fallen behind. A Death Eater—we think it was Antonin Dolohov—had caught him from behind. According to the fourth years who witnessed it, Henry didn't have time to react." His head fell into his hands and I heard a few sobs escape. "It's my fault really. We were supposed to stay _together_. He had always had my back, but in the end, I failed him."

This admittance was shocking. Granted, I had never asked, but I never realized Ron had been harboring this guilt regarding my brother's death. My first instinct was to agree with him, but I knew that was wrong. It was not Ron's fault that Henry had died that day.

"Ron," I said, trying to get him to look at me. "Ron," I repeated. "Henry would never blame you."

He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. "I know," he whispered. "But I blame myself. I wasn't even paying attention to where he had gone to. I think—I think I was too focused on being a hero than on being a friend."

We sat there together, two very broken, separate pieces. We were both struggling with our own guilt concerning Henry's life. While I blamed myself for pushing Henry out of my life, Ron blamed himself for leaving Henry in a time of war. Alone, we were powerless, I realized. I had taken so long to come to terms with the pain I felt. This morning, I thought Ron was well past his point of healing. He had seemed very much put together, but now, he was revealing his vulnerable side to me. I had been wrong before—he was not healed at all. And while I was trying to heal from one loss, Ron was struggling with two. Worst of all, he blamed himself for things out of his control.

Alone, we would not go anywhere. Alone, we could not heal completely. _Together_, I thought, taking both of his hands into my own, and pressing my forehead to his, _together, we could fix each other._

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><p><em>Author's Note <em>Well, I hope this chapter did not disappoint. Ron may seem a little OOC, but I believe that he would have matured greatly after the battle, but I still seem him as awkward. Regardless of this, Ron and Hermione are still 19 years old in this story and are about to experience first time love. And yes, I believe in love at first sight and instant connections and all that jazz. My husband and I met on a Saturday, he asked for my number that Tuesday, and we began dating the next Sunday. After only knowing him for eight days, I knew I was a goner for him. Almost six years later, I haven't been proven wrong! Anyways, I also like to believe Ron was always a little smarter than he would ever care to admit. :)

Thank you for those of you who reviewed last chapter. Please keep up your lovely words!


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**I Never Knew You**

_Summary:_AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

_Author's Note:_ I am sorry I have not been responding individually to reviews. I plan to try to catch up on that this week, so if you asked a question or something, I will try my best to get to you as soon as possible. But, for now, a BIG THANK YOU to all who have read, reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. Without you, this story would not be possible.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

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><p><em>THIS place was familiar, though I knew I had never seen it before. I searched my brain, trying to place it. I could not remember seeing such a sprawling staircase in my life, however, especially one made of marble. I looked around, confused by all of the destruction. The wall to my left was gone, chunks of the stone littered on the floor. A window to my right was missing its glass, the shards at my feet. I searched for another person; listened for some kind of noise. I took a step forward, toward the staircase. I was scared to precede, a sense of fear washing over me.<em>

_I took a few steps up, my eyes trailing to the landing. The staircase split, leading in two directions. I could see more rubble on the left staircase. Taking a deep breath, I continued until I reached the landing. Where was I? I heard a noise then, a groan. I froze. I was not alone, as I had previously thought. The groan sounded again, but I was not sure where it was coming from. My first instinct was the rubble. I took a step towards the left, my fear increasing. What would I find? Swallowing, I approached the rocks and bent down, using my hands to move the pieces away. I reached the floor quickly, but found nothing. I stopped, listening, waiting for another groan to help lead me. When none came, I stood up, helpless. _

_I tried to concentrate on how I had come about this place. I could not remember where I had been before. I frown. I looked down at myself then, shocked at my appeal—I was wearing Henry's school robes! I looked around the building again. Was I at Hogwarts? The groan sounded again, interrupting my thoughts. It was louder this time, and I knew it was coming from the bottom of the staircase I had just ascended. I rushed down again, searching frantically._

_"Hermione?" a voice croaked._

_"Henry?" I breathed, disbelieving._

_"Help me, Hermione." I rushed to the crumbled wall. Stepping over the stones, through the large hole, I entered another hallway. Like the first, this hall was in ruins, the walls broken, windows shattered. I turned in circles, trying to locate my brother. Finally, my eyes landed on him, crumpled in a corner. I ran to him, tears I had not felt forming streaming down my cheeks._

_"Henry!" I yelled, as I threw myself down next to him. His robes were tattered; his face bloody and caked with dirt. "Oh, Henry," I whispered, my hand cupping his face._

_"Hermione, it's too late," he croaked._

_"NO!" I said angrily. He grimaced. "No," I repeated more softly. "Henry, I am sorry. So very sorry." _

_He gave a weak smile. "For what?"_

_"Everything. Henry, I am a horrible sister. I hated you so much. But, I know now I was wrong. I'll make it up to you. I want to know everything about being a wizard. I want to know about Hogwarts. I want to know about Harry, and Ron, and Parvati even." _

_Henry closed his eyes and I leaned closer. His breathing was labored, and I knew he was struggling. _

_"Please, Hermione," he said. "Don't be sorry. I don't blame you."_

_I sobbed, shaking my head in disagreement. "I miss you, Henry," I whispered._

_"I miss you too, Hermione."_

_I looked into his eyes as he spoke, a single tear running down his right cheek. I took his hand into my own and he closed his eyes. _

_"Henry?" I said. He did not respond. "Henry," I said again, this time louder. I kept repeating him name and began to shake his shoulders. "HELP!" I yelled, panic lacing my words. "SOMEBODY, HELP ME, PLEASE! MY BROTHER!" I was standing now, running down the hallway, searching for someone, anyone to help me. Henry could not die. Not now. It was too soon._

_"Please," I cried, willing someone to come to my aid. The hallway seemed to go on forever. There were no doors, no windows, no one. I turned, deciding someone would be at the other end of the hallway. I would search the staircase where I had started. But, as I began to run in the other direction, I realized there was nothing there. No crumbling wall, no littered floor, and most importantly, no Henry. "NO! NO! NO!" I screamed, turning in circles, searching for my brother._

I shot up in the bed, clutching the sheets. _Where am I? _I thought, expecting to see the stone walls and marble staircase. When I saw neither, I remembered I was at the Burrow, in Bill Weasley's old room. I suddenly could feel the tears on my cheeks, the sweat on my forehead. I was breathing heavily, trying to catch my breath. _It was just a dream_, I told myself. I shifted in my bed, realizing the sheets were damp. I let a sob escape my lips. I had not had a nightmare in months, and certainly not one of this nature. My entire body was sticky with sweat and as I pulled the duvet off, I shivered. The cold air hit my body quickly.

I swung my feet over the side of the mattress, letting my toes skim the wood floor. I wiped away the tears and sighed, remember the night's events. After asking Ron about Henry's death, he had paid for our drinks and we left the pub in silence. My question had put a melancholy mood on the evening and neither of us could seem to steer the conversation in a different direction. We walked back through the village, hand in hand, watching as other couples passed by us, laughing and kissing. I remembered feeling a pang of resentment for them, before realizing that I had nothing to be jealous of. Ron and I were exactly where we needed to be at that point.

We had apparated back to the Burrow, which was surprisingly quiet. Ron walked me through the garden and up the stairs. When I entered the room, he had lingered at the door, not releasing my hand.

"I had a nice time tonight, Hermione," he had said quietly.

I gave him a feeble smile. "I did, too." He kissed my forehead and I added, "I'm sorry for ruining it."

He shook his head. "You didn't ruin it. I understand why you asked. And, I reckon it's time I start coming to terms with all of my feelings surrounding the war."

I had nodded and he embraced me. I liked the feeling of his long arms wrapped around my torso and I breathed in his scent before whispering good night.

When he left, I had not bothered changing my clothes, too emotionally exhausted to do anything other than lay in the bed. I did not remember falling asleep, and now I wished there was a clock in my room to know what time it was. I already knew I would not be able to fall back to sleep, and if it was too early I did not know what I would do at the Burrow. At home, when I had awoken from a nightmare, I had simply gone downstairs to make a mug of hot tea. Here, I did not even know _how _to make hot tea.

Deciding that either way I could not lay down again, I changed out of Ginny's clothes, and into a pair of my own jeans and an old t-shirt. As I descended the staircase into the kitchen, I noticed the sun beginning to rise and was thankful it was not too early. I sat down at the kitchen table, remembering it was Sunday and I would be going home tonight. As this thought passed, I followed it up with another: I was not ready to go home yet. Henry's friends had barely made a dent in telling me about his life, but if I was being honest with myself, I needed a break after last night and the dream.

Lost in my own thoughts, I did not hear Ginny enter the kitchen and barely noticed her take the seat next to me. She did not say anything to me for a moment, and I almost jumped when I finally noticed her.

"Oh!" I exclaimed.

"You all right?" she questioned through a smile.

"Yeah, just thinking."

She nodded knowingly and we fell into a silence again, before she finally said, "Well?"

I looked at her in confusion, unsure of what she was asking. Her grin was stretched across her face, reaching her blue eyes. "Well what?" I said, but she continued to look at me. "Oh," I said, realizing what she was implying.

"Not 'oh,'" she chastised. "I know we hardly know each other, Hermione, but you went out with my _brother_ last night. I'm still a bit shocked and bloody curious as to what happened!" When I did not react, her face fell and she practically shouted: "He mucked it up, didn't he?"

"No!" I said. "Quite the contrary. I think I mucked it up," I clarified, letting my head fall into my hands.

I felt Ginny's hand on my shoulder, and heard her ask how. "I asked him how Henry died," I muttered through my fingers.

"I see," Ginny said in response. "Hermione, it's not your fault and I highly doubt you mucked anything up. Ron, well, Ron's never exactly worn his heart on his sleeve, so talking about any memories from the war is hard for him. Unfortunately, he feels responsible for a lot of the things that occurred, even though many of them were out of his control. Henry was his best friend, despite all of their differences. When Harry told Ron you were coming here, he was taken aback."

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes as she spoke. "Don't get me wrong," she continued, "Ron was happy you were coming. I'm not sure if he told you last night or not, but he has wanted to meet you for years. But, he wasn't sure if he could talk about Henry. He's kept so many of his feelings bottled up since last year."

"He has seemed so carefree, though," I interjected, "while telling me things about Henry."

"Well, yes, right now he is. It's easier to recount the earlier memories. When they were younger, Hermione, I think it was still more of an adventure for them. The danger, although apparent, wasn't so obvious for three twelve year old boys. They were _excited_ to fight, to have those adventures. They weren't thinking about the consequences. But, when things started to become more _real_ and they realized they could actually… die, well, those are the memories that are so much harder to relive."

I understood, naturally, and I wondered if it would even be a good idea to ask Harry and Ron to continue their stories of Henry. After all, even learning of how Henry had died had sent my subconscious back into depression. Would I be able to handle knowing more?

"Stop," Ginny said suddenly, eyeing me carefully. She seemed to be able to read my thoughts. "Don't think like that. They _want_ to help you, Hermione. And, before you go doubting yourself, there is a reason this is so important to you, and they understand that. They need this to heal just as much as you do. In fact, Hermione, we all do. We've all spent this last year living in the shadows, going about our days without much feeling. While we know they're gone and things have changed, we ignore the good memories we have of them. Can you believe that I have forgotten what Fred looks like?" I shook my head, not understanding.

"He and George may have been identical, but there were differences. I was the only one who could tell them apart, you know? But, now, because I forced the memory of his face so deep inside, I can't remember what those bloody differences are!" She pounded the table in exasperation. I placed my hand over her fist and she allowed a sob to escape her lips. She composed herself after a moment and said, "Hermione, we are all glad you are here. You may have come here seeking our help, but in fact, you're helping us more than you'll ever realize."

* * *

><p>Ginny and I stayed at the kitchen table for another hour, talking and laughing about nothing at all, before Mrs. Weasley descended the stairs and shooed us out so she could prepare breakfast. I tried to protest, offering my help, but relented quickly when Ginny gave me a stern look.<p>

"Don't argue. She likes to be alone in the kitchen after a rough night."

I nodded, knowing that even if Ginny was right about my presence helping the Weasleys with their grief, it was still hard for Mrs. Weasley to relive her son's death and the memories of a war that had taken many of her friends.

As Ginny and I went to our respected rooms, I gathered my things to shower and get dressed for the day. I spent my time in the shower concentrating on the perfect temperature, not wanting to repeat the cold and hot shower I had the morning before. It helped because it kept my mind off the dream of Henry and how helpless I had felt, not able to save him. Resigning to the fact that I would not be able to blow dry my hair today, I took a tie from my bag and simply pulled the hair off of my face into a messy ponytail. It was useless trying to tame it, and I contemplated asking Ginny to do the spell on my hair again. I relented though, telling myself I should not rely on something I would not have tomorrow.

Once satisfied with my appearance, and deciding Mrs. Weasley had to let me back into the kitchen by now, I headed down the stairs, glancing once more at the pictures on the walls. After my encounter with George yesterday, I had not ventured further through the house to seek out more pictures. I was desperate to find pictures from Ron and Ginny's later Hogwarts years, hoping perhaps Henry would be in some. I knew I could easily ask any of the Weasleys but I felt as if I was invading their privacy enough by staying in their house and asking for their memories of Henry. I did not want to overextend my welcome.

When I entered the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley had finished bustling around the room and Mr. Weasley was sitting in his spot at the head of the table, a newspaper in his hands.

"Good morning," he greeted with a smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," I said.

"Hermione, dear, sleep well?" Mrs. Weasley inquired to my right. Her smile had returned and it was obvious she was in much better spirits than she had been first thing this morning. I nodded in response and offered a polite smile, pushing the details of my dream away.

Her smile widened in response and she began placing various breakfast foods onto my plate. I tried to protest the amount of food she was getting me, but I knew my words would fall on deaf ears. I began to eat to appease her, wondering briefly where Ginny had gone and if Harry and Ron would be joining us. Mrs. Weasley had finally sat down to eat herself, and while the three of us ate in silence, I thought of my parents. I wondered what they were thinking now, in regards to my trip. I wondered if they were spending their weekend at the office, or digging through Henry's letters, soaking up the information as hungrily as I had. I missed them—after all, I had never been away from my parents before, despite my age. But, as much as I missed them, I remembered again my feelings of not being quite ready to return home.

What would returning home mean? After this weekend, would I be able to start living again? Perhaps I could finally apply to university and finish my education. I certainly did not want to be waiting tables and making next to nothing for the rest of my life. But, a thought that had been lingering in my mind for months reappeared. Would finally moving on mean I would forget Henry forever? _No_, I told myself sternly. _You're here, learning about him so you'll never have a reason to forget! That's why Harry and Ron are helping you_. Ron… what about Ron? What would happen to _us_ when I returned to my world? I shook my head, not even sure if there was an _us. _Perhaps our date had been a one-time thing, never to be repeated. But, I liked Harry and Ginny as well. Surely we could still maintain a friendship? How difficult would that be, being in two completely different worlds?

"Hermione, dear, everything okay?"

"Hmm?" I muttered, coming back from my thoughts. "Oh, yes, sorry, Mrs. Weasley."

She nodded knowingly. "Not a problem dear."

We heard Ginny coming down the stairs and she stopped short when she realized how quiet the room was.

"Uh," she said, "is everything okay?" We all nodded, but she did not seem convinced as she took a seat next to me. "All right, then," she said. "I guess I just forget how quiet the house is now."

Mr. Weasley grunted in response and Mrs. Weasley gave her daughter a weak smile. Ginny sat down with me and shifted through the eggs her mother had placed in front of her. Mrs. Weasley watched her intently, waiting for her to eat. When Ginny finally brought the fork to her mouth, Mrs. Weasley's shoulders relaxed and Ginny shot me a look. I could not quite interpret it, and when I offered no response, Ginny shrugged and continued to eat as if nothing had happened.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Mr. Weasley asked, cutting through the silence.

"I need to practice," Ginny said, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's frown. "I thought I would use Ron and Harry to my advantage this morning, and Hermione mentioned she was curious about Quidditch." _I had?_ I thought to myself. Ginny caught my eye however, and I replied quickly, "Oh, yes. It's rather fascinating, isn't it?"

Mrs. Weasley's frown transformed at my enthusiasm, and I knew what Ginny's goal had been. Mrs. Weasley would not protest if I was involved. Actually, I did not mind that Ginny was using me, as Quidditch was an interesting topic, and it would give me the break I was so desperately seeking. We finished our breakfast quickly and thanked Mrs. Weasley before Ginny dragged me out into the garden.

"I'm sorry about that," Ginny apologized. I shook my head.

"It's okay."

"I _know _she's proud," Ginny said. "But, she always had such big dreams for us. When we were at home, before we started Hogwarts, she would dream about our futures with us. I don't remember what any of the boys told her they wanted to do, but I think Percy is the only one who followed the path he had painted with Mum. Working for the ministry and all." She laughed. "I thought she would _die_ when Charlie came home after Hogwarts and told her he was going to Romania to work with the dragons. That _definitely _was not a Mum approved job.

"The year Ron left for school and it was just me and Mum—well, we dreamed every day about my future. Being the only daughter, we planned my entire wedding that September." She laughed again at her memory. "She's right, though. I did want to be a Healer when I was younger. As many times as we had to go to St. Mungo's—various injuries from the twins' experiments—I found myself fascinated with the Healers. When I was eight, they were the coolest people I had ever met!"

"What changed?" I inquired, as we began to walk across the lawn.

"Hogwarts," Ginny said simply. We approach the garden shed and Ginny pulled out two old looking broomsticks. She handed one to me. "Come on, I'll show you a few tricks." I looked at her skeptically as we continued our journey. "Anyway, I obviously knew of Quidditch. Growing up with older brothers who played meant that I learned pretty young. I had never really thought about it much while playing in the field with Bill and Charlie. I was just having fun with my brothers. But, when I started playing on the house team, I realized how much I _loved _it. Flying allows your mind to forget everything else, if even for a moment. Still, though, I never considered playing professionally. Until after the war."

We had reached a large clearing now and I noticed to large poles on opposite ends of the field. My eyes trailed up one of them and I realized they were makeshift goal posts.

"I had to grow up much faster than a normal sixteen year old," Ginny said, but quickly added: "We all did. The past three or four years of my life have been so _serious_. The little fun we did have was short lived. I realized this last year at school I didn't want to be serious anymore. I wanted to be carefree; I wanted to have fun. When I found out the Holyhead Harpies were scouting and we rumored to be visiting our practices, I realized I wanted them to pick me. I wanted to play Quidditch at the professional level."

She had mounted the broom by this time and I had not even noticed she was hovering above the ground. I gasped and almost dropped my own broom. She laughed.

"It's okay, Hermione. I'm not going to make you do anything you're not comfortable with." She lifted a little higher and bravely, I stepped over my own broom. She smiled. "Don't grip it too forcefully. That's it," she guided, as I gently wrapped my fingers around the top of the stick. "Now, just concentrate on floating." I did as I was told and felt my feet leave the ground.

"Wow," I whispered. I was not as high as she was, and I could easily touch the ground again if I bent my toes down, but it was still exciting.

"I got my letter last week," Ginny suddenly confided. I looked at her quizzically. "From the Holyheads," she clarified. "They want me to join the team."

"Really?" I said, giving her a genuine smile. "That's exciting!"

"Yeah," Ginny said, but it was apparent her heart was not in it.

"What's wrong?"

"I just—I'm very happy, of course. But, training starts next month. I'd be gone for months at a time without being able to come home. I guess I just didn't think about being away while pursuing my dream." She drifted a little higher, a frown forming on her face. I gripped my broom tightly and without thinking about what I was doing, began to follow. When we are eye level, I chanced removing a hand from the broom's handle and placed it on her shoulder. The broom wobbled for a second, but I held it firmly with my other hand and steadied it quickly.

"Ginny, this is your _dream_. Your family will be very excited for you and I know they will support you," I tried to reassure.

"I know you're right. I'm just scared of leaving," she admitted. "I—I don't know what I would do if I lost another brother—especially if I was gone."

"Stop thinking like that!" I said sternly, tightening my grip on her shoulder. "Trust me, I wasted the past year…" I trailed off sadly, thinking of how I had put my dreams on hold while mourning Henry's death. Neither one of us had a chance to say a word because in the next moment, Ron and Harry had into the clearing then, shouting our names. Startled, I let go of the broomstick and fell face first into the ground.

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><p><em>Author's Note<em> Please make sure to review! (Remember, I allow anon. reviews, so flames and kind words alike!) I know this chapter wasn't exactly exciting. Anyways, I wanted to address something regarding **Hermione and his magical abilities: No, she does not have any.**She is strictly a muggle-born. I am taking my creative license here in having her get on the broomstick. I don't know if it has ever been clarified, so correct me if I am wrong: I do not believe you have to be a wizard to ride a broomstick. I believe the magic is in the broom. Otherwise, wouldn't they be able to take any old broomstick instead of spending galleons and galleons on a _Nimbus 2000 _or a _Firebolt_? I kind of feel the same about brewing potions. As long as you have access to the right ingredients, you can do it, yeah? But, no, Hermione cannot perform spells or anything that requires having a wand. If she was a witch, I don't think Hogwarts would have screwed up by _not_ sending her a letter.


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